Of Peasants and Patakis
by DoofusPrime
Summary: Arnold is a peasant living in Hill's Wood, unaware of the love Helga the merchant's daughter holds for him.  When Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus host a castle festival, Arnold will rediscover himself while Helga finds out if love truly conquers all.
1. Clods and Classes

**Of Peasants and Patakis**, by DoofusPrime

_**Notes** - Basically, this is a story in which I put the characters of Hey Arnold into a fantasy setting to try something new. I was going less for dungeons and dragons style fantasy and more for a romantic fairy tale kind of feel, although perhaps with a little more realism and humor. So read on and enjoy!_

* * *

**Clods and Class**

XX

Once upon a time, in a small hamlet by the name of Hill's Wood, there lived a young clod farmer named Arnold. This clod farmer named Arnold spent most of his time with his fellow peasants, tending the fields under the shadow of a distant castle. More a figurative shadow than a literal one, of course – the castle would have to be ridiculously large to cast its shadow over the many fields that surrounded it – but, in a tale such as this, certain creative liberties must be taken.

Regardless of the nature of the shadow, Arnold and his peasant friends farmed their clods under the watchful eyes of this castle and its owners, Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus, who occasionally toured their lands to make sure their subjects were hard at work but otherwise disdained any contact with lowly peasants such as Arnold. The castle perched nobly on top of a gently sloping hill.

A small neighborhood of houses, belonging to merchants and a handful of nobles, was clustered not far from the castle, forming a sort of semicircle on the edges of the hillside. In the center of the town, larger than the other buildings, a monastery stood watch like a sentinel. The hill that supported the castle and town was surrounded by fields after it tapered off to level ground, which were worked by peasants but owned by the Lord and Lady. The fields surrounding the castle were, in turn, surrounded by a thick forest.

Far away from the castle – past the patchwork of fields and near the edge of the great forest – lay the aforementioned small hamlet of Hill's Wood in which our peasant Arnold lived. The hamlet was a collection of ramshackle huts and houses crouching uncomfortably together, huddled for warmth, looking for all the world like they had been cast aside by a gigantic child to fall randomly in a pile. Other than a town square in the center of the hamlet, there was no recognizable arrangement to the place at all.

The land in which Arnold lived could be seen as an ever expanding group of circles. In the inner circle, the center of which was Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus's castle, lived the haves. Around them, in the town of nobles and merchants, lived the have-not-muches. Finally, on the outermost edges of the largest circle, the have-nothings lived in Hill's Wood.

Arnold lived there amongst his fellow have-nothings in a house passed down to him by his recently passed grandparents. It was a house with only a few rooms, but it was one of the largest in the village, and several of his fellow villagers lived in it with him. At the start of this tale, however, we find Arnold not in Hill's Wood but in a nearby dirt field, toiling with his fellow peasants and hacking at dirt clods with a crude hoe.

XX

_Another day, another clod,_ Arnold told himself as he brought the hoe down again.

He wiped sweat from his brow and looked up from his work, squinting through the harsh afternoon sunlight at the dark hulk of the castle in the distance. It was a few miles away, but still in plain view of anyone working the fields or living in Hill's Wood. Besides the castle, the top of the nearby monastery could also been seen, as well as a scattering of rooftops belonging to nobles and merchants like Helga G. Pataki's family. Arnold wondered what people like Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus did all day instead of working. Most likely, he would never know. He already knew one thing Helga did all day – stop by in Hill's Wood and bother him and his fellow peasants.

"Hey dude, what's up?" quoth Gerald.

Arnold looked at his best friend, who was breaking apart clods in the same field, along with a number of other peasants from Hill's Wood. Stinky and Lila were both toiling nearby as well; clod harvesting time was approaching and all able-bodied villagers were out in the fields. Arnold's gaze passed from Gerald to Lila as he sighed wistfully.

Lila was no ordinary girl. Arnold thought she had a certain grace even when she was stooped over and hacking at the ground. It was just a shame that she didn't like him the way he liked her. He had known for a long time that she did not return his feelings, and he was trying to get over her, but his feelings still lingered. Arnold didn't know if it was love, but he must have liked her with double the intensity she felt for him. It was as if he liked her twice over. He struggled to find some way to phrase his feelings...

"Arnold! _Dude!_"

Gerald's shout caused Arnold to look back at his friend a second time.

"You're totally out of it today, man. What's with the daydreaming?"

A little embarrassed that he had been caught staring at Lila, Arnold glanced over at the castle again instead. "I was just thinking about Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus, wondering what they're up to in there."

Gerald looked over at the object of Arnold's attention. Forbidding walls of stone. Black, sightless slit-eyes set into the walls. Crenellations, fluttering flags. The sight of the castle was majestic, but Gerald did not like to waste much time thinking about it. Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus lived in a different world, and Gerald's world had more pressing clod-related concerns.

"I heard they were having a festival at the castle soon," Arnold continued as he peered at the distant flags fluttering on towers framed by the sky. "Some kind of high society event with dancing and socializing and feasting and all that."

"Really?" said Lila, looking up from her labor. "That just sounds delightful!"

Arnold had to agree. He always had a certain soft spot for dancing, and sometimes the townspeople would make fun of him when they caught him twirling with an invisible partner in the midst of their hovels, but Arnold didn't mind. In his youth, his grandmother Pookie – as he affectionately called her – taught him a number of fancy dance styles. Where she had learned to dance the way she did, Arnold did not know, since her answers were always tall tales and fantasy.

Both of his grandparents had been fond of telling him wild stories about their past, always changing, and about the fantastic lands that his parents were visiting in their long absence. Pookie's stories were even worse than those of his Grandpa Phil, though. Pookie had been a bit on the crazy side, and trying to talk to her had annoyed Arnold sometimes as a child. But now that she was gone, Arnold found that he missed her quirks and strange comments.

"Where'd you hear about that fancy festival?" asked Stinky.

"Some of the townspeople were talking about it the other day. Tailor Kokoshka says he has a rich uncle who will be attending the festival because he's close friends with Lady Rhonda."

"Yeah, I bet," laughed Gerald.

Arnold joined his best friend's laughter. Tailor Kokoshka was known for his tall tales, almost as much as Arnold's late grandparents, although Kokoshka was always more insistent that his were true.

"Either way," Gerald said as the laughter died down, "There's no point in thinking about that stuff. It's got nothing to do with us, and these clods ain't gonna break themselves."

Arnold sighed as he returned to his work.

"Yeah, I suppose so."

XX

The clod farmer Arnold had a hard lot in life, as did his friends and fellow townspeople in Hill's Wood. They found opportunities for merriment in the evening sometimes, trading tales and relaxing in the town square if they had enough energy to stay awake after a long day of work, but their lot in life was largely one of toil and trouble. That was the way of things.

But do not let this picture give you the impression, dear reader, that peasants were the only people with a hard lot in life under the (figurative) shadow of Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus's castle. In fact, some of the nobles had hard lives as well. Being a noble was certainly better than hacking at chunks of dirt all day. In the distant time in which this tale is set, however, anyone who did not live in a castle tended to have a life which – in the words of a peasant named Stinky – really bites.

And so we come to a young merchant's daughter named Helga, who is feeling better than Arnold but certainly not happy.

XX

"Ol- er, Helga - I just don't know why you can't be more like your sister," Portly Bob Pataki told his daughter. "Your mother and I were a little worried when she took so long to find a suitor," - Bob blanched a little at the thought of his favorite daughter reaching her late 20's, practically near death, without her charms being recognized - "but when she did, lemme tell ya, what a catch!"

"I don't see how he was a catch," Helga complained. "Heck, I got the impression maybe he was lying about that huge estate he owned. He seemed like a real shyster to me. And we hear from Olga now, what, twice a year?"

"Your sister married up," Bob admonished his daughter. "Don't get me wrong, Portly Bob's Breeches does well, but she won the lottery with Duke Doug! Instead of taking this jealous attitude, you should man up and act a little more feminine like your sister! Just tone down the back talking, quit loitering around in that dump of a village with the peasants, wear what the other girls wear, and maybe you can pluck your eyebrows a little – I'm sure _some_ guy might notice you at that point."

"That's it!"

"What's it?"

"It's always Olga, Olga, Olga! I can't take it anymore. Let me spell something out for you, _Bob_," she said as she spat out her father's name. "I'm never going to change who I am. If I have to act like a girly girl to get someone to notice me, then I guess I'll just to become an old maid instead. It's not like any of the noblemen in this town have anything interesting to say anyway! And neither do the merchant's sons!"

Portly Bob gasped at this last comment.

Helga slammed her fist down on the table and kicked her chair back as she stood up and glared at her parents, feeling like she had scored a triumphant victory over her father. As she began to storm out of the room, Miriam called out to her daughter, distressed at her family's implosion.

"Helga, sweetie, where are you going?"

"Outside, mom. I need some air."

"What about breakfast? I'm sure Inga is almost done out in the kitchen – she should be bringing in the food soon."

"I'm not hungry."

Helga left the living quarters and passed through the small store that her father ran in the front of the house. Just before Helga slammed the door and walked into the street, the sound of her father's voice reached her from inside.

"If you're not interested in anyone with money and a good family, who _are_ you going to marry?"

XX

"Arnold!"

Helga spoke the name reverently as she twirled through a small path that wound its way through her garden, dancing an imaginary dance with her unknowing lover. She stopped at various flowers and vegetables, sniffing their fragrant scent or squeezing them to see if they were ready to pick yet. Portly Bob thought that tending to a garden was unladylike – Olga had certainly never spent her time rooting around in the dirt – but it did provide some food for the family, so Bob never complained about it as much as Helga's other pastimes.

"Oh Arnold," she cried, heedless of who might overhear, "if only I could break free of the bonds that tie me down and declare my undying love for you! That gorgeous bow-shaped head, that shining cornflower hair, those sultry half-lidded eyes that pierce through my rough exterior and plumb the depths of my fluttery girlish soul! Arnold, my love, my heart's desire!"

Helga paused in mid-twirl and got down on her hands and knees to sniff a dandelion, indifferent to the dirt and dust that soiled her bright pink kirtle and leggings. The dandelion was her favorite flower. It was unappreciated by her wealthy acquaintances as a garish weed, but Helga knew that it had a number of uses: medicinal, culinary, and it was a good plant to make the soil more fertile for other plants to grow. Not only that, but it was beautiful. Perhaps it was not as flashy as some other flowers, true, but Helga liked its plain and sunny disposition. It matched the color of her hair, but it also matched Arnold's hair. It even matched his personality.

Heedless of her surroundings and lost in her reverence for the boy with the cornflower hair, Helga pulled a rock from the white smock beneath her pink kirtle, staring down at it in admiration, cradling it in her cupped hands. It was a rock she had found years ago, shaped exactly like Arnold's head. Or so Helga thought. Other observers might have said it just looked like a rock, but who would they be to question the good judgment that comes with true love?

"Arnold, my sweet – why am I so cruel to you? Why do I treat you like a common peasant? Well, okay, you are one, but that shouldn't make a difference – your bonds hold you down as much as mine. If only you could notice who I truly am, see how I truly feel, and then your love for me could bloom like these tiny dand-"

"Helga?"

Helga twitched in surprise at the address coming from behind her, which set her off her balance and sent her flailing into her garden flower patch. She turned herself over, picking up the Arnold-shaped rock as surreptitiously as she could, placing it in the pocket she had woven into her smock, and dusting the dirt off as she got back up from the ground. In front of her stood her best friend, a fellow merchant's daughter named Phoebe.

"Hey Pheebs, what's up?"

"What were you doing down there?"

"Oh, not much," said Helga. "Just smelling some flowers." Phoebe was aware of Helga's little secret, but it wasn't like Helga wanted to let her best friend to catch her acting like a ninny. "Want to take a little walk?"

Phoebe nodded and took her friend's side as the two of them left the garden. They passed through the collection of buildings gathered at the foot of the hill on which Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus's castle towered.

In the case of Helga's neighborhood, the shadow of the castle really _was_ almost close enough to fall over them. Most of the houses in the small town belonged to merchants profiting off of the position of the castle on a well-worn trade route, but a handful of wealthy nobles also lived in the town, probably wanting to benefit from close proximity to their Lord. A few of the houses were even made of stone, with glazed windows set into the walls. Portly Bob's business did not take in enough money for that kind of snazziness.

Near the center of the town, Helga and Phoebe passed the monastery that imposed itself over the rest of the houses, as if it was judging them for whatever sins houses committed. The monastery was a beautiful building, stained glass windows looking out imperiously from its heights, but Helga always thought there was something threatening about it. Only on a few occasions had she ever seen the nuns who lived and prayed inside. She wondered if the stained glass windows let in much sunlight.

"So, Helga," said Phoebe, "it sounded like you were reciting a little poetry there in the garden."

"Yeah, so?"

Helga glanced at her friend as they walked past the monastery and through the rest of the town. Phoebe was very perceptive, and while she was more quiet and studious than Helga, she was also different than the usual wealthy girls that Helga came across. Phoebe had a great interest in literature and academics, her parents having amassed an unusually large library for merchants, and she spent much of her time buried in books. She did venture outside to walk with Helga or spend time with her in her garden, however, and sometimes Phoebe would even accompany her friend to Hill's Wood. She thought some of the peasants there could be very interesting.

Phoebe spoke up tentatively. "I was just wondering if maybe you were reciting some poetry about, you know – sweet custard?"

"No, I was not. Just waxing poetic over the fall flowers, okay? That's it."

"Understood."

Phoebe and Helga began to turn back to her house, their walk having reached its limit. Unfortunately, Phoebe seemed to be more persistent than unusual in ferreting out her best friend's secrets. "Will you be going to Hill's Wood later?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Helga reluctantly.

She didn't really have anything to hide from her best friend, seeing as Phoebe knew Helga's secret even if they never really talked about it too explicitly, but the way Phoebe was pressing Helga about it made her feel a little defensive. Phoebe's inquisitiveness, trailing right on the tail of Portly Bob's rant, was prodding her sensitivities into a seething boil.

"Why, are you coming too?"

"No, I was just wondering. I need to do some work inside this afternoon."

"You heard about that festival that Rhonda and Thaddy are hosting at the castle?" Helga asked, trying to change the subject.

Phoebe nodded.

"Think we'll be invited?"

Helga's question was asked in jest, but Phoebe took it literally.

"I don't think so, Helga. I hear that a couple of the nobles here in town have been invited, and a number of other nobles will be traveling from afar to attend. I believe that I once heard Lady Rhonda say that she holds the best festivals – I'm sure merchant's daughters are not included."

"Probably not," agreed Helga.

The truth was that Helga did not have any interest in such an event in the first place. Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus did not stop by to chat for very long when they came out of the castle, but Helga had talked to them enough to know that she did not like them. Rhonda in particular. Helga knew she would not fit in if the people at the festival were friends of Rhonda and Thaddeus. Not that she fit in anywhere.

Not to mention that, other than Phoebe, the only person with whom Helga wanted to go to a festival was a person who would never be invited in the first place.

XX

A myriad of tiny shadows lengthened and twisted along the dirt clod fields. Dusty brown hues were drenched in orange as the sun sank deeper into the sky. With an hour or two left in the day until darkness fell, it was time to go back to Hill's Wood and retire for the evening. As far as Arnold was concerned, it was about time. The last of the dirt clods harvested that day were piled into a wooden ox cart along with the peasant's tools. Arnold, Gerald, Stinky, and Lila were about to pile into the front when they saw a horse and rider approaching them from across the field, trampling their well-cultivated dirt clods still unharvested.

The horse came to a stop, and the pink outfit visible even in the late afternoon light identified its rider unquestionably as Helga G. Pataki. Gerald looked momentarily pleased at her appearance, but when it became apparent that Helga was the only one arriving, he groaned a little.

"What's up, peasants?"

"Hello Helga," said Arnold. "We just finished working the fields, and we're going back to our village now."

"Is that right, bow-head. I was getting a little bored over in my rich people neighborhood and thought I'd hang out with you clod-hoppers for a little while, so I borrowed Phoebe's dad's horse and came over here. I was feeling charitable, so you all get to enjoy my presence for a while. How's that sound?"

Sleep sounded better to Arnold, but he did not feel like arguing with Helga, seeing as she just ended up arguing back and making things even more unpleasant when that happened. "That sounds fine," he said.

"Alright, I'll just follow you guys to your hovels."

The ox cart shifted as the oxen began to trundle on their way toward the small village of Hill's Wood, Helga's horse trotting beside it. It wasn't long before they arrived in the village. Hill's Wood was not the friendliest place for ox cart traffic, or any kind of traffic for that matter. Pigs and chickens tended to race through the streets, and the roads were rough even on the best of days. When it rained, the entire village seemed to be built on top of a mud slick, and one could almost see the houses sinking deeper into the mire.

Arnold and his fellow villagers got off the cart and stored the day's dirt clod harvest in a barn while Helga waited for them to entertain her in the village square. The villagers began to gather in the square with her so they could celebrate the completion of a hard day's work. Not only that, but since the harvest was drawing to a close, Hill's Wood was feeling particularly festive.

"Gather round, friends," announced a villager named Sid as people began to accumulate in the village square, "and listen with fear as Gerald tells the story of the castle troll!"

"The castle troll?" asked Helga. "What, you're saying a troll lives over in the castle?"

The villagers groaned at the question; by now, they were used to Helga interrupting their evening story time. Gerald stepped onto a flattened log podium as he got ready to tell the tale.

"No, Helga. It lives underneath the castle, guarding the sewer tunnels that come out past the walls. But that's part of the story, if you'd be quiet and listen."

"Okay, fine. Don't get all worked up there, Geraldo."

Gerald gave her one last glare as Sid stepped aside theatrically. He cleared his throat, ready to begin, and the village drew closer in excitement. The tale began, and Arnold almost immediately started losing himself in his vivid imagination. The ravenous troll lurked in the dark corners of his mind, sniffing the ooze and muck in the pitch black tunnels he called home, waiting for someone foolish enough to get close to the entrance so he could grab them and drag them into the darkness. His friend was very good at telling stories.

The terrifying images were cut short as a clod of dirt hit the side of his head. He turned to see Helga, whistling nonchalantly and trying hard not to meet his gaze. It was not a surprise; Arnold had long since gotten used to having dirt clods thrown at his head.

"Come on Helga, that one had a little rock in it."

"Man up, bow-head!"

Arnold grumbled as he returned his attention to the story his best friend was weaving, but he and his fellow villagers jumped at the sound of horses whinnying nearby. Gerald paused in mid-sentence, and the villagers turned to see a carriage coming towards the village from the direction of the castle. They left the square and approached the outskirts of the village as the carriage slowed down; the peasants had seen it before on occasion, but it was always a stunning sight. Four horses pulled the carriage, and a veil embroidered with gold and silver hung over the passenger compartment. Brainy was the coachman, and he nodded to Arnold and his friends as he reined in the horses and brought the carriage to a stop.

Uh, hi," he wheezed.

The veil was pulled aside as Lady Rhonda poked her head out to look disdainfully at the peasants and clod farmers. Lord Thaddeus sat beside her in the carriage, looking more at ease with his surroundings.

"Behold, it is I, Lady Rhonda," she announced, although her words were almost cut off as she jerked her head in surprise at the sight of Helga standing in the crowd.

Rhonda looked over the girl, grimacing at her horrific attire. Helga was certainly leagues below Rhonda in terms of birth and breeding, to be sure, but it was still surprising to see a merchant's daughter in the middle of a clod field wearing a bright pink kirtle.

Rhonda nodded curtly. "Um, it's like, quite fortuitous that I should find you here, Helga. I wanted to invite you to the festival I will be hosting at the castle in half a fortnight's time." Rhonda gave this offer with an air of great pain and reluctance.

"For real?" Helga asked incredulously.

"Mind you, knave, I would not have invited you if it weren't for my dear husband, who wanted to repay Portly Bob for the breeches he bought from him when he went into town last week." Rhonda looked back at her husband with a withering glance, implying that there was no need for him to go into town and buy breeches from lowly merchants, ever. "And apparently he found your conversation to be quite scintillating while he was shopping at the store. Just try to wear something a little less scandalous, will you?"

Helga shrugged as she looked down at her outfit.

"Excuse me," said Lord Thaddeus as he leaned over his wife and peered out of the carriage car, "but are you the peasant known as Arnold?"

"That's right."

"You know, if I'm not mistaken, you have a noble cousin who will be attending the festival. Count Arnie, I believe. Do you know him?"

The other peasants looked shocked as Arnold shook his head in reply.

"Why don't you give us the pleasure of your company at the festival, then?"

"Curly!" protested Rhonda. "Are you insane? He's dressed in sackcloth!"

"Come on sweetie, it shall be quite an interesting gathering. I'm tired of those dandies you always invite to our social gatherings. Something a little different this time, please?"

Rhonda sighed in disgust at the way her festival preparations were going. At this rate, they would be opening the castle dungeon and letting everyone up to mingle. But her husband had a certain bizarre charm that, she hated to admit, usually ended up making her give in to his completely inappropriate whims.

"Alright, Arnold, you come along as well," said Rhonda, forcing the words out of her mouth with great difficulty. "But seriously, _sackcloth?_ Find something else to wear."

"It's a tunic, Lady Rhonda," Arnold dared to point out.

"Um, like I doth care."

Rhonda turned back to Helga and again wondered why she was hanging out with a bunch of peasants. "What are you doing here, anyway?" she asked.

"Who me?"

"Yes you. Who do you think I was asking? What's a not-so-horribly-off-compared-to-these-peasants lady like yourself doing out here in the fields?"

"Nothing. Why would I be doing anything out here? I just – I mean, I -"

Helga began to stammer incoherently, feeling trapped by Lady Rhonda's questions. Not only that, but the fact that she could be attending the festival with Arnold was only just beginning to sink into her mind, which was having about the same effect as a large tankard of mead on a hot day.

"Look, I was just out here to make fun of Arnoldo here and laugh at his dumb village, that's all! Like I'd have anything else to do in clod-ville!"

With this, Helga ran to where her horse had been reigned beside the ox cart, leaped onto it, whipped the reins, and sent it racing off into the rapidly dimming light, back towards her town near the castle. The crowd of peasants, along with Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus in their carriage, watched Helga recede in the distance. It was not often that people of such different circumstances found something to relate to, but they all had to agree that Helga's outburst was on the strange side of things.

"Well," said Rhonda after she recollected her thoughts, "Curly – I mean, uh, Lord Thaddeus and I, just wanted to come out here and make sure you all are meeting your daily quotas of clods." She eyed the barn where the clods were held, but Lady Rhonda would not stoop to counting the harvest herself; she believed that her very presence was enough to cow the peasants into honesty and hard work. "We all know the harvest will be finished soon, and I want a good return this season. Don't be shirking us now!"

"Never, milady," said Arnold.

"Good, good. And by the way, what's with the roads coming out here? It be nigh impossible to get this carriage out to your hovels, much less if it was raining. Can't somebody like, I don't know, fix that?"

The peasants shrugged haplessly.

"Well, whatever. It's back to the castle for us now. I bid you good night, peons!"

The veil pulled back over the darkened forms of Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus, and Brainy waved to Arnold and his friends just before the carriage sped off towards the castle. The crowd of peasants began to make their way back to the village square. Gerald knew he would have to restart his story. He shook his head as he took one last look behind them.

"Man, did you just get invited to mix with the rich people at the castle?" he asked.

Arnold was shocked himself. "That's what it sounded like."

"I tell you what Arnold," said Stinky, "I figure you must be livin' a charmed life, what with you invited on account of that cousin of yours. How come you never mentioned him before?"

"I didn't know I had a cousin."

There was still some light left in the sky, but soon a bonfire would need to be lit in the village square. As Gerald began his story again, Arnold thought about the visit from Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus. A visit from the two of them was unusual enough, but even stranger had been Helga's reaction to their arrival. Why had she sped off so quickly after wanting to hang out with them? Was she just concerned about Lady Rhonda looking down on her for hanging out with peasants? Arnold figured it probably didn't look good to Helga's family either, especially based on the stories and complaints about them which she told Arnold and whoever else would listen, but Helga didn't seem to care about that.

"That Helga's a strange one," said Gerald, almost as if he had read his friend's mind. "Why's she always hanging around with us peasants anyway? You'd think she'd have better things to do."

"Who knows," said Arnold. He certainly didn't.

XX

Helga was back home, but she had to take one last walk through her garden before she went inside, taking in the scents that wafted up from the flowers, breathing in the crisp evening air. A million thoughts raced through her mind as she looked up at the moon's smiling white face, bathing her in a glow that brought poetry from the depths of her heart.

Arnold would be at the festival. She would be at the festival. They would dance, and Arnold would fall madly in love with her, unable to resist her sultry gaze, and – wait, wait. No. That wasn't it.

Helga's emotions were flying back and forth faster than a whip held by Lady Rhonda at the head of a carriage. Which, incidentally, was why Lord Thaddeus was glad Brainy was their coachman and not his wife. But back to Helga's emotions – they were all over the place. She had seen the fact that she and Arnold were both invited to the festival as a sign, but who said it was a good sign?

The moon hung in the sky like a baleful eye, pinning Helga down in its milky glow. She caught the scent of manure and rotten vegetables coming from a nearby cesspit, slithering through the evening air. Arnold would be at the festival. She would be at the festival. They would dance, Helga would step on Arnold's toes – probably deliberately – and make fun of his peasant outfit. Arnold would hate her, because why would he not? She was almost always rude to him, and she never gave him any reason to like her. This would be a disaster.

And yet... would it?

Helga found herself torn between hope and despair when she opened the back door to the living quarters of her house, flitting about as wildly as the bats in her attic. The sun had already gone down, and the rest of the town was asleep. Helga had expected her parents to be in bed as well, but she found her mother and father sitting inside at the table, a single tallow candle flickering in the darkness. Helga stopped in the entryway with the door still hanging open. Bob's face was hidden in shadow, but she could tell he was frowning.

"Where have you been, missy?"

"Out, Bob. If you must know, I was invited to a festival earlier this evening."

"A festival?"

"That's right. A festival, at Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus's castle, half a fortnight from now."

Bob nodded, his brow sinking lower over his already dark eyes.

"A festival? I remember Lord Thaddeus mentioning something about what when he stopped by the store last week. Sold him a great pair of breeches, let me tell you." Portly Bob tapped the table with his finger, deep in thought. "Maybe he invited you to give you a chance to mingle with some eligible bachelors, Helga. It might be a good opportunity for you, because while you were gone tonight I decided I just can't deal with you anymore. If you can't find a husband at that festival, I'm gonna put you in that monastery where you can learn some piety and discipline when you become a nun."

The candle sputtered out as a gust of wind slammed the door shut.

XX

* * *

_**Notes** - I'm making no guarantees in terms of historical accuracy seeing as, while I like history, I've been reading a lot more ancient history and haven't hit the medieval stuff much yet. That, and seeing as I want it to come off a bit like a fairy tale, I can't stick to extreme historical accuracy in the first place. :) However, I have been looking things up and trying to add tidbits here and there because I at least wanted the story to have a medieval feel.  
_

_The character's ages may not exactly match how old they are in the show (they're older, and Rhonda and Curly in particular are a bit older than the rest of the characters) but in terms of personality I wanted to make them the same even if I play around with them a little.  
_

_Reviews are appreciated!_


	2. Dreams

**Dreams**

XX

When Portly Bob Pataki told his daughter she would soon be joining the local monastery, he did not expect laughter in response. When Helga laughed in response, she did not expect to find that her father was being completely serious. This, of course, left the two Patakis at an awkward impasse, and the room was soon filled with tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. Helga was the first to make a cut.

"A nun? You think I'm gonna be a _nun_?"

"You don't have much choice in the matter," said Bob. "Your mom and I have been talking, and to be honest, we don't know what else to do with you! You refuse to behave in a womanly manner, you hang out with those peasants all the time, and it's obvious you're never going to find a decent man. And let me tell you, missy," - at this point Bob sidled a little closer to his daughter, as if he was about to impart a dark secret - "this may be hard to believe, but Portly Bob Breeches doesn't make quite as much money as you might expect."

"No way," scoffed Helga.

Bob did not notice the sarcasm-laden tone and nodded. "That's right! We're not one of those clod farmers, don't get me wrong, but we can't be supporting you forever, Helga. The monastic life is your best option here."

"What the heck am I supposed to do as a nun? I can't be cooped up inside all day, Bob!" Helga looked at her mother. "What do you think about this, Miriam?"

Miriam shrugged. Bob had mentioned that the two of them had been talking earlier, but Helga could never quite tell when her father was taking a few liberties with the truth. As far as Helga could tell, it looked like her mother had been spending some time at the tavern. Miriam hiccuped and gave her daughter what was either a sympathetic or sickly look.

"What about the store?" Helga said. "Why can't I help you run the store or something instead?"

Portly Bob scoffed condescendingly. "Helga, we can't have a woman selling breeches. The idea is ridiculous – Miriam will just have to have a son eventually who can take over."

Miriam seemed to bristle a little at her husband's comments, but she still said nothing.

Helga's mind raced at the speed of one of Lady Rhonda's thoroughbred horses. She didn't know exactly what was involved in the life of a nun, but she knew it wasn't what she wanted. Perhaps Phoebe could get used to it – she had heard that the monastery had a library, after all – but Helga was a free spirit. Not the type for robes and prayers, lord help her.

"What about the festival, then?" she said. "Like you said, I can meet somebody at the festival. You want me to marry somebody, fine, I'll get married! I even know a guy who will be there."

"What guy? Where's he from?"

"It's a guy from, uh – well, he-" Helga trailed off as she realized her father would not be impressed if she mentioned someone from Hill's Wood as a potential suitor. "Just some guy, okay?"

Bob narrowed his eyes at his daughter, trying to determine whether or not she was telling the truth. He was unconvinced that someone of Helga's humble appearance could rope in another Duke Doug, but then again, she had gotten invited to Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus's festival. Even Olga had not been given _that_ honor. Maybe he was underestimating his younger daughter.

"Alright then," Bob said. "You'll go to this festival first – it's not like there's a big hurry, we can wait a little while before we stuff you in that church - but you're still coming with me to the monastery to meet Abbess Slovak and give the place a look. Get familiar with your future home if you don't find a husband at that fancy castle party of yours."

Helga stomped into the back room where she slept with her parents, glowering at the unpleasant turn the night had taken. She threw herself down onto her simple bed, rolling over and facing the wall as she glowered. She'd show her father. A monastery – what a crock. Then again, Helga wasn't sure how she would show her father anything when she had no intention of interacting with anyone at the festival besides Arnold, but it was just a figure of speech. _I'll show him_, she told herself as she drifted into sleep.

XX

Several suns had risen since Arnold the peasant clod farmer was invited to Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus's castle festival, and the day was fast approaching when Arnold would most likely step into a crowd of horrified aristocrats, dressed in sackcloth and smelling of elderberries. Not that Arnold minded. He was looking forward to the new experience, and was certain that he and the nobles could learn something by sharing stories with each other and walking a mile (or dancing a few steps) in each other's shoes. Or, in Arnold's case, clogs stuffed with some leafy padding.

Life went on despite the approaching festival, however. Arnold passed his nights in fitful slumber, still bothered by the occasional dream of his grandparents, although sometimes he dreamed of upcoming festival at the castle or of the fantastic adventures his parents were having in faraway lands. The memory of his grandparents, along with their far-fetched stories, would linger in Arnold's mind for a long time to come. In the mornings, Arnold awoke, shaking the dreams from his head and getting ready for another long day.

XX

The ship broke through the clouds like a shear through sheep's wool. Where it was going, Arnold did not know. He looked out over the sun-drenched horizon and felt the wind whip through his hair, heard the fluttering of the ship's sails as they passed through the atmosphere. Far below the ship, as he looked over the edge of the deck, Arnold could see the brilliant dappled greens of the forest tree tops beneath him whenever the clouds broke. His mother and father stood beside him as they forged ahead to unknown destinations and new adventures.

"How do you like it, Arnold?"

His parents each squeezed a shoulder as they stood to either side of him, enjoying the view with their son.

"It's amazing!"

Hazy white thinned out into blinding blue as the ship broke out from a cloud bank and sailed into a clear horizon. The sight was like nothing Arnold had ever seen. He had never seen a ship either, much less a flying ship, but he had seen the occasional small fishing boat in the river that coursed through the forest outside of Hill's Wood. From there, Arnold could dream up the rest himself.

"Where are we going?" he asked as he looked up at his parents.

"Wherever you want to go, Arnold."

"I want – I want to go-"

The clouds returned almost as quickly as they had left. Arnold watched as his parents grew more indistinct, their faces gradually becoming one with the air. The clear horizon was gone, and Arnold felt the planks of the flying ship beneath his feet twist and warp. They became the walls of his house in Hill's wood, and the clouds buoyed him up, softness turning to scratchiness as they became the straw bed on which he slept.

Arnold woke up.

XX

The sun was just barely up, and Arnold worked on the house as he smoothed some daub over a crack in a wall panel. He endured the occasional annoying comment from Tailor Kokoshka, who was watching his progress but not contributing to the work himself. The strange dream with the flying ship that morning had gotten Arnold thinking about his family. Not just his parents, but also his grandparents. They had not been gone very long, and they were often still on his mind.

Arnold was very close to both his grandparents, who had lived to an astonishing age compared to most people trying to get by in the hard times in which he lived. Phil had been a talented carpenter and woodworker who helped maintain the house in which Arnold lived. It was a construction of wattle, daub, and timber, topped by a shingled roof instead of the thatch that covered most huts in the village. It was one of the largest houses in Hill's Wood, which wasn't saying much, but it served as a home for a number of the people in the village, including Arnold himself. Arnold's grandfather had been a sort of caretaker over the people in the house.

Phil and Pookie died on the same day, almost as if they had made a pact to go out together. Everyone had been very fond of both of them, and it had been hard for Arnold and the rest of the village to cope. He remembered spending a long time alone, hidden in the outskirts of the nearby forest so no one could see his tears.

There was an old abandoned shack near the edge of the forest where Arnold sometimes liked to be alone. Often a few pigeons would flutter down from the boughs of overhanging trees and coo at him as if they were trying to cheer him up. It was a peaceful place to hide. There was the river that cut through the forest if one ventured deeper inside, but it was only on rare occasions that Arnold went that far unless someone was accompanying him, and his long days of work didn't let him spend that much time venturing deep into the forest anyway.

"Hello Arnold!"

Arnold looked up from his work and saw Friar Simmons, who – now that Arnold's grandparents were gone – might be the oldest person in the village. Simmons was no match for Phil and Pookie in longevity, at least not yet, but he was at a ripe old age someplace in the mid 40's if Arnold was guessing correctly.

"How are you today, Friar Simmons?"

"I'm doing wonderfully, Arnold. Thank you for asking! It looks like you're doing a great job on that wall paneling. You really take after your grandfather, you know."

"Thanks."

Tailor Kokoshka looked over Arnold's work with a critical eye. "Eh, it's not that good, I think I could do just as well."

"And a good morning to you" said Simmons with a polite nod. "So Arnold, are you looking forward to attending the festivities the castle?" He laughed at his own question. "Oh my, what a silly question – of course you are! Who wouldn't be looking forward to such an opportunity. I bet you'll be charming some nice young ladies there."

Arnold laughed. "I won't know anybody there," he said as he returned to his work.

"You'll know Helga."

Although Arnold had to laugh at the idea of charming Helga – could that girl ever be charmed by anything? – he supposed Friar Simmons had gotten him on that point. Their conversation reminded him of the events of the other night, when he had first been invited to the festival by Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus. Specifically, he thought of Helga.

Helga was a strange character if Arnold ever saw one. She did not talk, act, or dress like most people from her station in life, and sometimes Arnold wondered if she only came to Hill's Wood to give peasants a hard time. Particularly him. Helga seemed to always be picking on him, singling him out. Normally she got on his nerves, but what made it even more frustrating was that sometimes she could be civil enough. Sometimes he actually enjoyed talking to her when she was in her better moods. She was an enigma. He couldn't figure her out – it was as if the real Helga, whoever that might be, was hidden beneath a mask that Arnold had never quite seen her take off.

Arnold remembered that it was the death of his grandparents which had given him the closest look at who was beneath the mask Helga always wore while she was around him.

Helga had stopped by the village shortly after the deaths of his grandparents, and she had tried to be sympathetic – sympathetic, at least, as far as Helga could get – but it was clear she wasn't used to being kind and gentle around Arnold. He had appreciated the effort, though.

When Arnold's grandparents were buried, their grave was marked with a plain wooden marker. No one had the means to provide anything but the most basic funeral. Arnold had not expected anything different. Hill's Wood was a poor village, and while it was closely knit, in death - much as in life - no one there got any recognition in the long run.

Soon after the funeral, however, Arnold had woken up one morning and gone outside to tend to the animals in the communal barn shared by a number of villagers. He had been surprised to find a carved gravestone lying in the hay inside the entrance. The stonework had been beautiful, exquisite even, and the epitaph for his grandparents was poetic enough to bring a tear to his eye.

No one in the village was a stonemason. Lila and Arnold were somewhat literate, having learned from Friar Simmons and Arnold's grandparents, who were usually well educated for peasants, and they were the only three people in the village who could even read the epitaph, much less write it. Both Lila and Simmons had insisted that they did not make it for him when he tried to thank them. Outside of Hill's Wood, Arnold had only talked to one person about his grandparents. The gravestone was left anonymously, but Arnold had a feeling that he knew who had given it to him.

Arnold was an optimist, and he always liked to try to see the best in people. In his eyes, the gravestone had been ample proof that there was something hidden inside Helga beneath that flippant exterior. She was more than what she appeared. He just wished that her attitude towards him was something other than the occasional island of civility lost in a sea of name-calling and sarcasm.

"Hey Arnold – I think you missed a spot there."

Tailor Kokoshka lounged inside half of a broken barrel as he watched Arnold repair the house. Arnold wondered what exactly it was that Kokoshka tailored, since he seemed to be the laziest person in the village.

"Maybe you could lend me a hand, Kokoshka?"

Arnold would have asked Friar Simmons, but he apparently had business elsewhere in the village as he had left already.

"Oh, well, you know I would love to do that, but my back has been acting up lately. It's just good that a young man like yourself can handle all of the work, right Arnold? Ehehehehe!"

Arnold sighed and let his thoughts wander back to the festival as he worked on the wall panel. He had an idea of what he might wear, even though he was sure it wouldn't be a match for anything that the nobles would be wearing at the festival. His grandparents had left behind a few interesting outfits which had no use in the life of a peasant, but might come in handy when Arnold needed something besides a coarse tunic. He supposed they were relics of his grandparents' mysterious pasts.

As much as Helga could get on his nerves, Arnold found himself increasingly interested in how she would act at the festival. What would she say? What would she look like? Helga's station in life was higher than Arnold's, but she had always seemed like an unusual girl. The visits to Hill's Wood were strange enough, but on the rare occasion that Arnold had seen other people with actual wealth and status, they always carried themselves much more carefully than Helga. Dressed themselves more fastidiously, talked in a measured way. Helga did not seem to care about conventions. He was surprised that she could get away with it, although she had been a little nervous about Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus when they caught her in Hill's Wood. Arnold figured he could find himself manacled to a dungeon wall if he got cheeky with those two.

Someone who was very different than Helga, Arnold thought to himself, was Lila. She was courteous, polite, more well-mannered than Helga, and while Lila hadn't made his grandparents a gravestone, she had always been there to comfort him during the hard days following their deaths. Arnold had been trying to get over her, to make himself accept that she did not feel about him the way he did about her, but something about being invited to the festival was stirring up a last ray of hope in him. Lila had not been invited, but then, maybe...

Arnold left the wattle and daub panel behind, his repairs being finished anyway, and walked towards the barn where the dirt clods were gathered into bales. He knew that the clod harvest was almost over, and some of his friends would be gathering the harvest together and preparing the bales instead of working the fields this morning. Sure enough, Lila was inside, working alongside Stinky and Gerald.

"Hey Lila," he said.

Stinky and Gerald cringed. Something about the tone of Arnold's voice, the hopeful expression on his face, made them certain that he was about ask Lila something that would be awkward. He had done it before, but it was hard to get used to even if they were beginning to know when to expect it.

"Would you like to go to the festival with me?"

Their fears were confirmed.

"Oh Arnold. I'm oh so flattered by your invitation, but I'm afraid that Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus didn't invite me to the festival."

"I'm sure we'd be fine," Arnold said. "You're supposed to bring a partner to festivals anyway, aren't you? Someone to dance with?"

"I can't say I know for sure," said Lila. "I don't know what is involved in a castle festival. But, regardless of that, and I mean this in just the nicest way, Arnold, I like you. It's just that I don't like you twice over. I like you half as much as you like me, perhaps. Does that make sense?"

Gerald and Stinky exhaled the breath that they had been holding. They both liked Arnold, and normally their friend was one of the most level-headed and helpful people in the village, but when it came to girls, Arnold had a way of making things as painful as possible.

"Yes Lila," said Arnold with a crestfallen look. "It makes sense."

The dirt clods were not done being bailed, but everyone decided that Arnold's failed overtures towards Lila marked a good time to take a break. Gerald, Stinky, and Lila took their leave to go mingle in the village square. Arnold was feeling a little crushed by Lila's rejection, and instead of hanging around his friends he decided to go spend a little time thinking at the edge of the forest that bordered the outskirts of Hill's Wood.

"See you guys," he said as he left the barn, his friends walking towards the square.

"See you Arnold," said Gerald. "Don't take too long lounging around man, we still gotta do some work in the barn, and then in the fields!"

"Yeah, I know."

Arnold left his friends as he walked towards the edge of the forest. So he would be going to the festival alone. Not that big a deal, since Lord Thaddeus hadn't invited anyone beside Helga and him in the first place. And, Arnold thought to himself with a wry smile as he reached the cool shade of his favorite tree, at least he'd have Helga for company.

XX

Second to Lady Rhonda's castle, the monastery was the biggest building Helga had ever entered. She felt trapped on all sides as soon as she stepped through the doors.

Abbess Slovak ushered Helga and Portly Bob around as they toured the monastery. Helga watched the old woman, gray-haired and a little hunched beneath her habit, as she shuffled over the worn stone floors. Abbess Slovak did not seem like the happiest of people. Helga wondered if the monastic life had beaten her down into her present appearance. As they passed from room to room, the stone walls and vaulted ceilings pressed against Helga from all sides like a vague threat uttered against her future.

The refectory with its glazed windows and dining tables, the musty scriptorium, the dim dormitories, the warming room which was not really that warm when it came down to it – Helga had to admit it was a better life than many could hope to have, but everything was so strict, so structured. Her entire life would be planned out, divided into prayer duties starting well before dawn and lasting throughout the entire day. Vigils and Vespers were not Helga's cup of tea. Not that Helga knew what tea was.

"What kind of books do you have in the library?" she asked.

"Religious texts," said the Abbess. "Our sisters spend much of their time copying Biblical texts and making illuminated manuscripts in the scriptorium when they are not praying. We used to have a larger collection of secular texts, as well as some old pagan works, but I did not think those were very becoming of a holy lifestyle, so I removed them."

From the Abbesses' description, Helga got the feeling Phoebe would not enjoy the monastery's library.

"See," said Portly Bob as he slapped his daughter's back, "that's the way to do it. You can spend your time in here earning some points with the Lord instead of going off to who knows where and disappearing past sunset!"

Abbess Slovak was getting tired of trying to tone down Portly Bob's loud exclamations, which echoed through the monastery and disturbed the nuns at prayer. She had already taken them outside of the monastery to see the separate buildings for the kitchen and the infirmary, so she cut off the tour of the interior and led her two visitors into the open cloister in the center of the monastery. They walked around the open arcades surrounding the courtyard and breathed in the fresh air.

"And here," the Abbess said, "is where we get a little air, pray for salvation, and do a little gardening."

Helga's ears perked at Abbess Slovak's last statement, and she noticed the garden in the center of the cloister being worked by a couple of nuns.

"Do you have any flowers?" she asked.

Abbess Slovak looked at Helga as if she had sprouted a second head.

"No, we do not grow flowers. There is no need for frivolous plants here."

The glimmer of hope Helga had felt when she saw the garden was snuffed.

"That completes the tour of the monastery," Abbess Slovak announced. "The sisters and I look forward to your silent and well-behaved company when you take your vows and join us," said Abbess Slovak.

"Yeah, the feeling's not mutual, sister."

Bob narrowed his eyes at his daughter. "Hey hey hey hey!"

"That's quite alright," Abbess Slovak said. "We'll soon wring that attitude out of her through a life of chastity, prayer, hard labor, and slow repression of all emotion."

Helga had heard enough to know that she could not tolerate the life of a nun. Praying fifty times a day, taking orders from the Abbess, restraining all her emotions and living a life of silent austerity, and chastity – oh boy, chastity – it was too much to bear. Helga had never thought she had much of a chance with Arnold, since the two of them lived such different lives, but to have all hope of joining him in eternal love be extinguished? It just wasn't fair. How could her father do this to her?

"What if I don't want to do this, Bob? Doesn't what I want count for anything? What if I don't want to be forced into a life I never asked for and worn down into a loveless shell of a person?"

_Then you'd be me_, Abbess Slovak thought to herself.

"It's either that or follow your sister's example, Helga. Find a guy who's loaded and marry him, pronto."

The conversation had come to an end, as well as the monastery tour, and Helga knew that there was no way she would change her father's mind. She left the cloister and startled a group of nuns inside the monastery, absorbed in prayer, as she stormed past them and out the monastery's front doors. She was hoping to find Phoebe and complain about the way her life was dropping faster than a bucket in a well. Abbess Slovak and Portly Bob had tried to follow her, the Abbess trying to restrain Portly Bob from yelling in order to maintain some level of peace and decorum, but Helga was too fast. They stood in the doorway and watched her leave in a huff.

"Don't worry, Abbess. She'll come around after she gets that ridiculous festival out of her mind. It was just a fluke that she got invited to that thing in the first place."

XX

Scorching heat singed Helga's yellow pigtails. Her pink dress was pinned and torn by sharp claws that clutched her in a giant hand. The dragon had her firmly in its clutches, and it was about to take her deeper into its musty cave. Helga heard the crunch of bones littering the ground as the dragon lumbered into the cave, the heavy sound of breathing punctuated by reptilian grunts and hisses. The light from the cave's entrance began to grow dimmer, but the cave was briefly illuminated by occasional bursts of flame from the dragon's toothy maw.

"Stop!"

The dragon obeyed the command and turned ponderously in the darkness of the cave. Stalactites hung from a cave roof which was barely higher than the creature's head, and from her prison in the dragon's claws, Helga saw the bright entrance past jagged rocks that hung like teeth. There was a figure outside of the entrance. Clad in gleaming plate armor, mounted on a white horse, the figure held a lance in one hand and a shield in the other.

"Bring the maiden back and fight me instead, beast!"

The cave echoed in a cacaphony of roars as the dragon responded to the knight's challenge. The dragon reached the mouth of the cave and stepped into the sunlight, swishing its tail and stretching its leathery wings out as it placed Helga on the ground before facing its foe. Helga knew she could not run without the dragon catching her. It was up to the knight to save her.

"You came for me, Arnold!"

The knight pulled off his helmet to reveal a bow-shaped head. He looked at her with smiling, half-lidded eyes.

"Of course, Helga. I could never let a fair maiden such as yourself fall prey to such a terrible beast. Your beauty, your charm, your infinite wit, the way your eyebrows connect in such a strong and assertive manner – such things are too precious to lose!"

Helga swooned as Arnold turned back to the dragon and lowered his lance. The horse snorted and kicked at the ground in excitement, ready to charge at its master's bidding. The dragon roared again and lowered its head. Yellow eyes with slitted pupils took in its new prey. The two opponents were about to clash when the dragon paused for a moment.

Why did it like maidens so much, anyway? Okay, so they were a bit juicier than your average peasant toughened by a lifetime of hard outdoor toil, but there was always some knight ready to rescue a maiden. When the dragon thought about it, it was really a big hassle. Maybe it should just go after deer instead. Or at least much uglier maidens – knights tended to be less keen on rescuing those.

The dragon gave a rough grunt that sounded monstrous and yet peeved at the same time, and flapped its wings as it rose up into the sky. Arnold had to hold on to the reins of his horse to keep himself from falling in the blast of wind thrown by the flapping wings, and Helga almost fell over herself.

"Well," said Arnold as he watched the creature fly off past the treetops, "that was easier than I thought."

Helga rushed forward and leaped up to grab her savior. She almost fell backwards as she hit the horse's side, but she managed to grasp onto the edge of Arnold's grieves. He pulled her up onto the horse in front of him, where she faced him and pressed him into a warm embrace. A little too warm, seeing as his metal armor had been absorbing the rays of the sun all afternoon. It was like hugging a bonfire. Or, better yet, embracing Arnold's white hot passion for her.

"Oh, Arnold! You rescued me! My beloved, my hero, my knight in ridiculously hot armor! Kiss me Arnold, kiss me!"

As Helga leaned in to lock lips with her plucky peasant – or was it a knight? She was getting confused – she noticed that his face looked surprisingly like a rough cloth pillow filled with chicken feathers. Helga rolled around a little bit before jerking up out of her bed with a loud _eep!_

She was awake.

"Are you okay, honey?"

Miriam was sitting up in her own bed, staring at her daughter. The room in which Helga and her family slept was quiet. Or at least it wold have been quiet if it wasn't for Portly Bob's snoring.

"Yes mother, I'm fine."

"Did you take that mugwort and burdock potion for your constipation?"

"_Yes_, mother."

Helga sighed as she lay back in her bed. As far as dreams went, that was a nice one.

XX

When Helga went back to sleep, her fevered dreams were filled with cornflower-haired peasants, stooped abbesses, and haughty lords and ladies criticizing her dance steps. She might have been interested to know that miles away, in the small hamlet of Hill's wood, the dreams of a sleeping clod farmer named Arnold mirrored her own when it came to the upcoming castle festival.

Days and nights passed as Helga dreaded the rapidly approaching changeover from pink dress to white habit. She complained about the horrors of the monastic life whenever she visited her friend Phoebe, but at the same time, she could barely hide her excitement about the upcoming festival. She knew that the rational choice would be to find a rich, single noble and hook up with him as quickly as possible, but she was only looking forward to seeing one person.

That person was also looking forward to the festival, although he had mixed feelings about seeing Helga there. He also had mixed feelings about seeing his cousin, Count Arnie, whom Lord Thaddeus had said would be there. Would his cousin be interesting, or look down on him for his humble origins? For that matter, would he be able to approach anyone there? Arnold wanted to believe that only good could come of the festival, but he hoped that the Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus's noble guests would give him a chance.

Either way, Arnold spent his time until the castle festival toiling in the fields with his fellow peasants and going about life as he always did. There was always work to do, and life did not put itself on hold for his convenience.

The day of the castle festival will soon arrive, and our tale will resume with the peasant and the Pataki preparing for a night of dancing, revelry, and – in Arnold's case – maybe some actual honest-to-God food besides gruel, stale bread, and the occasional handful of limp vegetables.

XX

* * *

_**Notes** - I usually don't take quite this long to update, but I don't like to post chapters before I am fairly sure I will not be changing them in any way once they're up (other than trivial mistakes or something), and I've been kind of rewriting and playing around with this story more than any others I've written so far except a Kim Possible story I am also writing. Anyway, I think I've got pretty much everything planned out now, so it might be updating a teensy bit faster after this chapter. Er, no promises though, hehe._

_Hope you enjoyed the chapter!_


	3. Disguises

**Disguises**

XX

Arnold's house, while often a bit crowded with the townspeople who lived with him, was even more packed than usual. The hamlet of Hill's Wood was abuzz with talk of one of their own being invited to an event as grand as the festival at Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus's castle, and everyone wanted to talk to Arnold about what might happen. They had packed into the house as Arnold was about to take his outfit out of an old chest his grandfather had owned, but now he decided to drag the chest outside. If everyone was going to be staring at him, at least he could have some fresh air.

"I heard they got an indoor fountain that runs with mead day and night," said Ernie the Tree Cutter. "You can swim around in it if you wanna!"

"That sounds unlikely," said Arnold.

"I heard from my uncle that they have a big room that they use as an archery range," said Tailor Kokoshka. "Except that, at the end of the room, there are no targets – they just take peasants and they line them up and shoot them with the arrows. You'd better be careful Arnold. Maybe they just want a new pincushion, ehehehe!"

Arnold grimaced at Kokoshka's laugh – the man had a vivid imagination sometimes. "Obviously that can't be true," said Arnold. "Have we ever seen anyone from the castle come by and take anyone from Hill's Wood against their will to be archery targets?"

Old Man Hyunh spoke up. "Hey – how about that boy, long time ago, name Torvald. They took him, huh?"

Everyone nodded at Hyunh the Herbalist's suggestion. Old Man Hyunh had moved to their small village a long time ago, bringing a great knowledge of herbs and curatives. He came from even farther east than Tailor Kokoshka – Hill's Wood was a surprisingly cosmopolitan little hamlet.

"Torvald was caught stealing chickens from the royal stores. Besides, that wasn't long ago, it was only a week ago."

"Still, maybe he shot up with arrow already!"

Arnold sighed; he knew that when the village folk got to gossiping, there was no use in appealing to reason.

The old chest was still not open, and Arnold turned his attention to it as he tuned out the crowd around him. When Arnold had asked about the chest in the past, his grandfather had mentioned that there were some outfits inside, although he had always changed the subject when Arnold tried to ask where he had gotten it from. Arnold opened the chest, and his fellow villagers gathered closer, growing silent as they looked at what was inside. There were a number of compartments in the chest, and a lot of clothing was piled inside. Arnold hadn't looked inside since his grandparents had died, although he had taken a peek a few times in his childhood. He was surprised Tailor Kokoshka hadn't looted it since then, but he supposed his grandparents got a certain amount of respect even from Kokoshka. Enough to make him keep his prying hands to himself, at least.

Most of the clothing was fairly plain, but Arnold pulled out one outfit that immediately caught his eye. A tunic and surcoat that were more colorful and made of finer material than anything he – or anyone else in the village – normally wore. Actual leather shoes, not just wooden clogs stuffed with leaves. A velvet cap. Arnold wasn't sure if it was the kind of thing anyone else at the festival would be wearing, but he had never worn an outfit like it before.

"Wow," said Gerald. "That's pretty snazzy. Where'd your grandparents get something like that?"

Arnold was just as surprised as his best friend. His grandparents had both been unusual, but maybe they held more secrets than even Arnold would have guessed.

"I don't know, but I think this is what I'll be wearing to the festival."

"I think you'll look wonderful, Arnold," Lila said.

She looked over the outfit as Arnold held it over himself to check its size. Arnold smiled; being rejected by Lila earlier still stung a little, but he knew her compliment was genuine. He wondered if he could actually impress a noblewoman at the festival. He'd have to turn on the charm, and find some subjects to talk about besides dirt clod farming, but was it really so fantastic to think he might find romance?

Maybe this was the time to make a clean break of his old feelings for Lila. And even if he didn't find anyone there, it would be worth going just to see Helga's reaction when she saw him wearing an actual decent outfit. Maybe she wouldn't even recognize him. _Let her try and make a quip when she sees me in _this _clothing_, Arnold thought to himself.

"Alright," Gerald said as he laid a hand over his friend's shoulder. "So you got the outfit, my man, but now it's time to work on your lines."

"Lines?"

"That's right."

Gerald led Arnold away from the villagers in the town square as they walked through one of the listless alleys that led between the village shacks. Gerald was confident in his abilities with the ladies, but as much as he liked his best friend, he knew Arnold could be a little awkward around them. His friend could use a few of his pointers when it came to smooth talking, but he didn't want their practice to embarrass Arnold in front of Lila.

"Come with me and we'll practice a little more privately..."

XX

Curly, as he liked to think of himself when he wasn't around subjects, and as his wife called him when they were alone together, felt a little bored as he lounged in the throne room. His wife flitted about the castle and attended to her last minute preparations for the festival. He tried to get Rhonda's attention a few times as she ran through the throne room, but barely a word escaped from his mouth before she disappeared again, servants and ladies-in-waiting trailing breathlessly behind her. Her favorite lady-in-waiting was Nadine, who was almost always at Rhonda's side if she wasn't out trying to catch bugs. The two of them made a somewhat unlikely couple of friends, Curly thought idly.

He was wondering whether it was worth his time to get up and get some fresh air when a young page ran into the throne room and made up his mind for him.

"Lord Thaddeus, sir," the page said, "the first guest has arrived."

"Ah, excellent," said Curly. He got up to follow the page to the ponderous wooden doors of the Great Hall. His wife, who had been setting things up in the hall, seemed to sense that he was off to greet someone and joined him in following the page outside, past the courtyard and to the gatehouse. Curly took a deep breath, enjoying his release into the open air from the dim confines of stone chambers.

Rhonda ordered the gates opened – the castle guards and servants were used to taking orders from her, as Curly tended to be indifferent to most matters – and the festival's first guest was revealed, trotting over the drawbridge and into the castle courtyard on his steed. Covered in burnished armor, armed with a sword and shield, the newcomer was the very picture of knightly chivalry and heroism. He removed his helmet and looked down at his Lord and Lady.

"What, did you _just_ come back from the war in the east?"

"Indeed I have, Lady Rhonda. I am honored to be your guest at the harvest festival."

Rhonda grimaced. Hopefully they had something for their guest to wear so he wouldn't stepping on toes at the festival with his steel boots. As much as she disliked Arnie, he was one of their more notable guests, and if _this_ was the dress he arrived in, she shuddered to think about what that merchant's daughter and the bow-headed peasant would look like when _they_ arrived.

"And how did the war go?" she asked, forcing herself to make conversation.

"Very well. _Gnnk_. I am now even wealthier than before."

Curly found it hard to resist sharing his wife's grimace; Arnie was not one of his favorite retainers.

"Great," said Rhonda. "It's nice to have you as our guest, Arnie. Please come in – one of my servants doth wait inside with finger sandwiches for our enjoyment."

Arnie nodded politely as he dismounted from his horse, letting the page who had announced his entry take the reins and lead it to the stables. He followed his Lord and Lady inside the castle, looking forward to the night ahead. The war had gone well, and now that he had returned, he was wealthier and more distinguished than the average nobleman.

Now, however, there was just one thing he was missing. Arnie had been so busy in his travels that he had not had time to find a bride and settle down.

Tonight, however, he would be sure to change that.

XX

The hour of the castle festival was fast approaching, and Helga was getting ready at Phoebe's house. She didn't want to deal with any of her father's comments, and Phoebe's house was a little bigger than her own – Phoebe even had her own room. Helga figured whatever Phoebe's parents did in the merchant business must be a little more lucrative than Portly Bob's Breeches. Not only that, but Phoebe had a little bit of makeup, and considering that Helga didn't know the first thing about makeup, she was enlisting her friend's last-minute help.

"It looks good, Helga," Phoebe assured her friend as they looked at her reflection in a bronze mirror propped up against the wall.

Helga twirled a little in her white dress, holding a hand coquettishly up to her face, a whirl of silk and lace trimming. A hat perched on her plaited hair, which was done up in a completely different style than her usual bizarre pigtailed hairstyle. A dark veil hung down over her face.

The effect was exactly what Helga wanted; she was almost unrecognizable as Helga G. Pataki the merchant's daughter. She was a noblewoman.

Sort of.

"I wonder what they'll have to eat at the festival," Phoebe mused. "Maybe some sweet custard."

Helga smirked at her friend. Phoebe was normally shy and timid, but she had a sneaky streak that occasionally came to the surface if she was in a playful mood.

"Yes, there will be sweet custard there."

"Well, I hope you have a taste, then."

Helga gasped in mock shock and gave her friend a shove on the arm. Despite Phoebe's teasing, her friend was right. Arnold, sweet Arnold, was the reason Helga was looking forward to the festival. Her father's threat kept racing through her mind – find a husband, find a husband, don't be a nun, Helga – but she found herself unable to focus on what was in her best interest.

Helga couldn't pinpoint what exactly she was planning to do at the festival, what exactly she was planning to say to Arnold. Was she going to confess her deepest feelings to him? Show him a different side of Helga Pataki which he had never seen before?

She looked at her reflection in the mirror, a reinvention of the old Helga, and wondered if it was really a different side of herself that she wanted to show. Maybe she didn't want to be Helga at all. Maybe she knew that Arnold would never like her. Not after the way she treated him, the way she looked down at all the peasants at Hill's Wood when she visited. The only way she could truly share her feelings with Arnold was if he didn't even know who she was.

But then again, she didn't look _that_ different. Arnold couldn't be so dense that he wouldn't recognize her. Helga thought about the idea in amusement - maybe she could pretend to be someone else entirely. It would be so easy to be honest then, to share her feelings, to break free of the habitual cruelty she threw at her love any other day she saw him. Helga began to feel more and more unsure about whether she was dressing up just to avoid angering Lady Rhonda with her usual garish outfit, whether she was trying to present a more refined side to Arnold, or whether she was just going to the festival in disguise. Disguised from others, and from herself.

The new Helga was incomplete, however – she needed one final touch. Helga plucked a small flower from her hair, which she had picked from the garden behind her house earlier. She transferred it to her hat, since the veil was making it a little hard to see her hair anyway. Now her outfit was complete.

"Your favorite flower?" Phoebe asked, looking at the dandelion.

"Yep. For good luck or something, I dunno."

"Are you ready to go now?"

Helga did not know the answer, but it was too late for that anyway. The afternoon was wearing on, and the time of the festival was at hand. Whatever her intentions were, Helga knew that everything would change for her after tonight.

XX

The castle festival was in full swing, and magic was in the air. In a general sense, that is. The air inside the castle was actually a bit smoky from burning torches, and the air outside was the same as it always was, but for narrative purposes, there was some kind of atmospheric magic going on in terms of impending romance and all that fluff.

Lady Rhonda was in her element, moving through the crowd of aristocrats and retainers like a fish through water. Arnie was dampening the magic in the air with his own special brand of awkwardness, but mostly he was on the prowl for an ideal future bride. The two protagonists of our story, Helga and Arnold, were not yet at the party.

As the castle festival goes on, we find Helga gingerly approaching the castle on foot, cursing the fact that a brief rainstorm had just muddied the ground and trying not to let her dress drag. Arnold is also on foot, but Hill's Wood is much farther from the castle. Life is always harder for peasants that way. Thus, we join the merchant's daughter as she arrives, hoping to find a certain peasant already waiting for a dancing partner inside.

XX

The outer walls of the castle loomed up ahead, an open wooden gate inviting guests inside as bright torches burned in iron sconces attached to the guard towers at either side. Helga had been trying to decide what she wanted to do tonight ever since she said goodbye to Phoebe and started on her way. Now that the castle was right in front of her, she began to feel her confidence wavering. Why would Arnold feel any different about her at a festival than he did when she was bothering him in Hill's Wood? She knew he only tolerated her, and it was her own fault.

It would be even worse at a festival. Helga would be unable to resist her usual taunts and haranguing, seeing as her willpower always failed her even when she had a brief private moment with that perfect little peasant. And she was a lowly merchant's daughter; Arnold would be arriving to see a veritable army of noblewomen who were more well-dressed, more well-mannered, more, well, everything, than Helga could hope to be. Her shortcomings would be laid bare. The thought of ditching the festival began to poke its way out of the dark corners of her mind, but before she could make a decision one way or the other, a page escorted her through the courtyard and up to the main doors of the castle itself. Helga found herself standing face-to-face with Lady Rhonda.

"Hello there, uh -"

Rhonda stared at the new guest, unsure of who she was. There was something familiar about the veiled woman, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"I don't believe I have the pleasure," she finally admitted.

Helga made an effort not to gape incredulously. She and Phoebe had both agreed that she was virtually transformed when she was preparing for the festival in her best friend's room, but she was still surprised to discover that Lady Rhonda could not recognize her.

To be honest, Helga only saw Lady Rhonda on limited occasions, and most of the time Lady Rhonda was paying very little attention to her, but still – Helga was more well disguised than she thought. Lady Rhonda stood in the doorway, looking increasingly impatient at Helga's blank stare, but a myriad of thoughts were racing though Helga's head. Maybe no one would recognize her. Maybe she really _could_ be disguised. Maybe, if being herself around Arnold was a lost cause, she could enjoy a night with him as someone else. Her better half.

"I'm, uh..."

Helga chose the first name that popped into her mind. Where it came from, she did not know.

"Cecile. My name is Cecile, milady – I'm honored to meet you!"

Rhonda pursed her lips at the name, wondering if it was someone her husband had invited, when Cecile performed an elaborate curtsy that took Rhonda by surprise. It was not a curtsy she had ever seen before. Whoever this stranger was, she was certainly a strange one. Maybe someone from the east.

"Well, do come in," said Rhonda. "We have dancing, refreshments, and even a game of pin the tale on the peasant."

The stranger took Rhonda's invitation and passed by into the castle. Rhonda eyed Cecile's soiled leggings as she entered the Great Hall, in which the a ring of tables surrounded an open space for dancing and revelry. Even her dress had specks of dirt on it, and while it wasn't bad, it really wasn't a dress worth writing home about either. Rhonda couldn't see a single jewel sewn into it, or a single golden frill. Nor was there any tasteful use of the color red, which was easily Rhonda's favorite color, but that was just as well – she didn't want any strange noblewomen from afar upstaging her in her own castle.

Still, Cecile's dress could be worse. Rhonda knew that real horrors would arrive later, probably in the dual forms of vermin-riddled sackcloth and a blindingly pink outfit.

"Everyone," she announced to her guests, "This is Cecile."

The guests nodded, and several greeted the new arrival warmly.

Helga scanned the room, looking for a certain bow-shaped head among the dancers. She recognized a few nobles from her town, a few castle servants she had talked to in the past, but most of the guests were strangers to her. Very well dressed, very proper-looking strangers. Not a peasant in the bunch.

Helga was about to give up looking when she did a double take at one of the guests. Was it? – no. No, it couldn't be. She found herself growing confused at the sight of the bow-headed noble who looked strangely like Arnold. The resemblance was uncanny. Her confusion increased when the Arnold-like stranger caught sight of her gaze, stared back for a moment, and made a beeline towards her through the dancing crowd. Did he know her?

"Milady," the stranger said. "Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am known as Arnie."

He did not know her. Now that he was close, Helga knew that he was not Arnold, but the resemblance was uncanny. His head was curved the wrong way, and his skin had a certain sallow tone to it – not to mention that Helga couldn't imagine Arnold ever being dressed like that – but generally speaking, he was very Arnoldesque.

"I'm Cecile."

"I am charmed," said Arnie. His voice had a certain monotone, and while Arnold's voice was fairly flat, Helga thought there was something particularly boring about the way Arnie spoke.

"Would you like to dance."

She could barely tell if it was a question or a statement. Helga shrugged. Arnold was not there, so she didn't mind killing some time until he arrived. Arnie took her by the hand and led her onto the stone floor as they began to twirl in unison.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asked the strange Arnold doppelgänger.

"Yes," said Arnie. He followed this statement with a loud snort, which caught Helga off guard, almost tripping her up in the middle of a step.

"Um, are you related to someone named Arnold, by any chance?"

"Yes. He is a peasant in Hill's Wood."

Helga was about to say that she knew Arnold, and that he was coming to the festival later, but she realized that it might lead to more questions from Arnie and blow her cover. Her mind raced as she realized she already might have blown her cover by bringing Arnold up in the first place. She felt her palms begin to sweat in Arnie's hands, partly because she was getting nervous, and partly because Arnie did not know how to hold a dancing partner's hands without crushing them. This festival was not off to a good start.

"Uh, I just asked because I passed through a village on the way here and saw a peasant named Arnold who looked like you. But I certainly didn't stop to speak to him much, I mean, being a wealthy noblewoman and all, haha. What a ridiculous idea. I don't know why I even talked to him in the first place."

Helga let out a half-laugh, half-cough as Arnold blinked impassively. If he had caught on to anything, it didn't show. "So, uh, are you two close to each other?" she asked.

"No."

Helga waited for more, but Arne fell silent while the two of them kept dancing to the lutes that were being strummed in a corner of the Great Hall. Helga wondered why Arnold had never mentioned his cousin before. Maybe he didn't know him – she did seem to vaguely remember him shaking his head at the mention of Arnie when Lord Thaddeus had first invited the two of them to the festival.

And why would Arnold be a peasant if his cousin was a nobleman? She couldn't be sure, but something about Arnie's reaction when she had brought up the subject was a little strange, as if he was put off by the mention of his peasant cousin. Helga decided not to push the subject further; Arnold might be arriving shortly, anyway.

"So what kind of stuff do you like to do?" she asked. Arnie was an awful dancer, and Helga thought maybe some conversation could take her mind off the steel boots that were crushing her feet.

"I like to chew pine resin. Plain flavored pine resin."

Helga held back a gag.

"Also, when I was in the east, I was thinking about how it would be nice if there were lists of ingredients for food. Someone could take some food and read a piece of parchment that told them what was in the food. I've been thinking about creating something like that."

"A list of ingredients? What, just on top of the food?"

"Well," Arnie said, his monotone glimmering with just the tiniest hint of excitement, "The food would have to be wrapped so that the ingredient label didn't get food all over it. But still – I think this would be exciting. Very exciting. What do you think, Cecile."

Helga smiled politely. She didn't have the faintest idea why someone would want to read about what was in their food instead of just eating it. As Arnold began to talk more about his idea, Helga longed for the peace and quiet of awkward dancing.

XX

After the page had led Arnold into the castle, he had been surprised to find that Lady Rhonda was almost civil towards him. Lord Thaddeus even seemed downright friendly. It had to be a good sign for the rest of the festival, and although he felt a little out of place, Arnold couldn't help but stand idly for a while and simply enjoy his surroundings. The vaulted ceiling of the Great Hall was bigger than anything he had ever seen before, and it was only one room of the castle. He looked around at the festival's guests, dancing and chatting merrily, and saw the kinds of outfits he had only seen at a glance on the rare occasions that he left Hill's Wood and saw a noble passing by elsewhere.

The music at the festival was like nothing they played in the village. The smell that came from the food piled on tables near the sides of the room was like nothing Arnold had smelled before. The ladies, while they didn't quite match up to Lila's homespun grace and charm, were a sight to see. Arnold ran his hands over his surcoat and made sure he looked as snappy as possible before he started to mingle, finding himself excited to try out some of Gerald's lady advice.

One lady in particular caught his eye.

That mysterious veil. A dress that was beautiful and yet simpler than anything the other noblewomen were wearing. A little bit of dirt and mud spattered across its bottom, as if she had been walking outside, unafraid to get a little dirty. There was definitely something about the girl that drew Arnold's attention, and she gave off an aura of familiarity, as if Arnold had known her for a long time. She was alone, and he weaved through the crowd towards her until he was next to her. Arnold spoke, which caught her by surprise and made her give a little startled leap.

"Sorry," he said. "Um, I'd like to – what I mean to say is – I know I don't know you, but, you must be tired."

Helga stared.

"Because you've been running around in my head all day, is what I mean."

Helga had only vaguely been paying attention, preoccupied with the fear of Arnie's imminent return, and she was about to laugh at the ridiculous line when she looked closer at the stranger and realized it was Arnold. The outfit, the slicked back hair, the air of false bravado – it was so jarring that she hadn't even recognized him for a moment. Helga's shock was enough to cut off any immediate laughter, and she quickly reminded herself that she was not Helga. She was Cecile. It was obvious that Arnold hadn't recognized her – at least, not yet – and maybe Cecile found his line charming.

"You're too kind," Helga laughed. "What's your name?"

"Arnold. And yourself?"

"Cecile. It's a pleasure."

"The pleasure is all mine, milady," Arnold said as he took Cecile's hand in his own and gave it a kiss. Helga felt herself grow woozy for a moment, but she was saved from fainting by a servant who approached the two of them holding a silver platter of hors d'oeuvres.

"Excuse me sir, milady – stuffed dormice?"

Helga and Arnold both looked at the dormice on the platter, then at each other. They reached out at the same time, almost grabbing the same one, and Helga giggled at Arnold's sheepish grin.

"These are amazing!" they both said after taking simultaneous bites.

"Cecile," said Arnold, "you've got a little tail hanging out of – yeah, right there."

"Thank you."

After Arnold finished his dormouse, which did not take long – it was one of the best things he had ever tasted, and certainly easier to force down than gruel – he got a closer look at Cecile. Even in the dim light of the Great Hall and behind her dark veil, Arnold could tell she was beautiful. The sight of her sent his heart crashing down into his stomach like a tree to earth. If Arnold knew what fireworks were, he would be certain they were going off in his eyes at that very moment. Cecile was a vision to behold. Not only that, but the sense of familiarity kept increasing as he looked at her.

"Where are you from?" he asked her.

"Uh – a faraway land in the east. What about you?"

Arnold blushed a little at the thought of revealing his humble origins, and he even briefly considered disguising himself with a false background, feeding Cecile stories of his noble birth and lineage, but he decided that honesty was the best policy. Even if it meant he might be rejected. Besides, Arnold knew nothing about the lifestyles of the people surrounding him – Cecile would probably see through his ruse in seconds.

"I'm actually a peasant, from the hamlet of Hill's Wood, a few miles away from here. It's kind of a fluke that I got invited here in the first place. I hope you don't mind."

"Mind? Why would I mind?"

"Well, I just thought that someone as beautiful and sophisticated as yourself might not want to talk to someone like me."

Helga laughed. "Not at all. You've been very charming so far. Um, by the way, you have a little dormouse on your chin-" she pointed to the spot. "Yes, right there."

Arnold's blush increased as he removed the offending spot, and Helga thought it was the most charming thing she had ever seen. "So," she asked, "why did you get invited here?"

"Well, I have this nobleman cousin who's attending, and Lord Thaddeus invited me so I could say hello to him, I guess."

"Hello."

The two of them turned to find Arnie standing beside them. Helga was disappointed at his return; Arnie was the polar opposite of his cousin, not just in terms of social status but in personality as well. He had left to find some pine resin, and it was clear that he had not been successful in his goal. Unfortunately, he was now interrupting her quality time with Arnold.

"My cousin," said Arnie. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"You as well," Arnold said with a bow. "My grandparents never mentioned anything to me about having any cousins, especially not ones in the nobility."

"We're distant cousins," Arnie replied after some thought. Arnold wasn't sure what exactly that meant, but his cousin did not seem to be interested in adding anything to the comment. "I see you've met Cecile," he finally said.

Arnold nodded, but before the conversation could go any further, Helga grabbed him by the arm and began to back away from his cousin. "Uh, actually, the two of us were going to go look around in the castle," she said. "Alone. It was nice meeting you, Arnie."

"Are you coming back?" he shouted after Cecile as the two of them ran down a passage leading away from the Great Hall and the festivities.

"Yeah, I dunno, maybe!"

Arnie watched impassively as they went away, his eyelids blinking individually. Cecile was gorgeous, charming - the ideal woman. He wanted to get to know her better, and yet, if he wasn't mistaken, it looked like his peasant cousin had just swooped in and taken her from him. Arnie's loving gaze turned into a gaze of disappointment, which, for Arnie, were pretty much the same expression as all his other expressions when it really came down to it.

Still - Cecile may have left, but Arnie knew he could not give her up that easily.


	4. Stars and Stories

**Stars and Stories**

XX

On the very same night the festival was going on in the castle, the villagers of Hill's Wood were enjoying themselves in the center of their little hamlet. The clod harvest would be completed in mere days, and with one of their fellow villagers enjoying the good life in Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus's castle, there was a festive feeling in the air. People sat on halved logs and the occasional stool around a large bonfire in the middle of the village square; some dancing, a few playing crude instruments, but most talking about what kind of things Arnold might be doing at the castle.

"I still bet he's a pincushion at their archery range," said Tailor Kokoshka.

"Quit being a party pooper," shouted one of the other villagers.

"Hey, I am just saying!"

"I heard they even had a game over there called Pin the Tail on the Peasant!" Stinky exclaimed.

Lila rolled her eyes. "And where did you hear that from?"

"Er – I reckon Kokoshka said so."

Lila shook her head. "Stinky, even if such a game existed, I doubt it involves actual peasants."

"That Arnold, he's a lucky guy," said Tailor Kokoshka. "I bet he's talking to some pretty lady right now, ehehe. And I bet they have all kinds of good food over there." He looked at the pigeon he was roasting on a stick, which he had been lucky enough to catch earlier that day in a rare burst of energy. "I mean, I eat good food all the time when I am visiting my uncle's castle, don't get me wrong, but I could go for something fancy right now."

"Ah, stuff it Kokoshka!" said Ernie the Tree Cutter. "You keep talking about this uncle of yours, but you've been in this village for years - I've never seen you leave for even a day!"

"Hey, just because you don't care enough about me to pay attention to my life-"

"You pay enough attention to yourself for everybody in the village, Kokoshka!"

Gerald sat close to the bonfire, enjoying its warmth as he listened to the pop and crackle of the flames that punctuated the argument between his fellow villagers. He wondered what Arnold was doing at that very moment. He looked into the distance and could see the castle, a dark shape set on top of its hill and framed by a deep blue night sky. The castle's blackness was offset by a few faintly burning spots of light emanating from its narrow windows. Maybe Arnold had taken Gerald's advice and moved on from Lila already.

He wished he could have joined his friend and experienced a castle festival for himself, although he imagined Helga might dampen the fun a little. Arnold was able to tolerate Helga more than he could, however. Not to mention that Gerald would have preferred having a dance or two with another merchant's daughter, but even if he and Phoebe had been invited, she would probably be dancing with some nobleman.

Either way, Gerald was happy enough at the bonfire, although he was getting a little tired of Ernie and Kokoshka's bickering. He stared at Kokoshka, who was tearing a hunk of pigeon off his roasting stick and making a mess of himself in mid-argument, and decided to change the subject.

"Hey Kokoshka."

"Who's that?" Kokoshka looked around in confusion. "Ah yes - what is it Gerald?"

"You might wanna be careful about who sees you eating that pigeon."

"What?"

Tailor Kokoshka looked down at his half-eaten pigeon in confusion.

"Well, you ever heard about the Pigeon Man?"

Kokoshka shook his head, which gave Gerald all the opening he needed. He had heard the tale of the Pigeon Man before, and while he wasn't sure if he believed it or not, it was a good story to tell at night when everyone was sitting around a bonfire. Sid took his cue from Gerald and leaped up from his log seat, holding out his arms theatrically as he gave the introduction.

"Gather round, all ye villagers, and harken!"

"Quit bein' all flowery, ya lout!" shouted a villager.

Sid glared in the direction of the offending voice and cleared his throat before he continued. "Fine, fine. Anyway, the story of the Pigeon Man is a tale long passed down in Hill's Wood from peasant generation to peasant generation. So listen up while my boy Gerald tells the tale!"

Sid motioned to Gerald with a flourish and stood aside as Gerald stood up on a log.

"Long ago," began Gerald, "or so it has been said, there was an old man who lived in the forest just outside our village. He didn't like spending time with the other villagers, and after a long day of hard work in the fields, he preferred being alone in a little shack built under a tree. He spent his days in the shack, and if there was no one nearby, he'd hang around outside his shack and feed a flock of pigeons that lived in the forest. Pretty soon he had pigeons comin' from all over the place, and the villagers started calling the old man 'Pigeon Man.' On account of the pigeons, see?

"Anyway, sometimes a few of the villagers would sneak into the forest and hide behind the trees, watching this old man feed his pet pigeons. And if he was inside the shack, sometimes they'd even come right up the walls and see if they could spy on him. And when they pressed their ear to the walls, do you know what they heard?"

The villagers listened to Gerald and shook their heads nervously.

"If they listened carefully, they could just barely hear a _coo, coo,_ coming from inside."

There was a long silence as the villagers waited for Gerald to continue, although it was broken by a loud belch from Tailor Kokoshka as he threw his pigeon bones away.

"One day," Gerald continued, "the villagers were struck by a strange sickness. And, as ignorant and superstitious rural folk often do, they found a scapegoat for their problems, and blamed-"

"Hey, who are you calling ignorant?" Ernie shouted. "You're rural folk too!"

"Yeah, what's the big idea!"

"Okay, okay! It's just part of the story, alright?" Gerald rolled his eyes. "Sheesh!"

The villagers reluctantly fell silent as he continued.

"Now, as I was saying – they blamed the strange old man who lived at the edge of the forest for their sickness. They sad he had dark magic, that he was spiting them with those cooing sounds inside his shack. One day, when the sickness became unbearable, the village folk got together and decided to go into the forest with torches and pitchforks, ready to sacrifice the old man in an attempt to make their troubles go away.

"The old man was minding his own business, cooing in his little shack, when he heard the villagers approaching. He could hear the shouts, the anger. He could see the burning orange light of the torches through the slats in his wooden walls. He ran out the door and begged for mercy, trying to tell them that he wasn't at fault, but did they listen? _Nooo!_ They were out for blood. The old man thought his number was up, but just before the villagers got to him, a sound came through the trees."

By now, the villagers had fallen silent. Even Tailor Kokoshka was sitting straight and listening to the tale with rapt attention. Friar Simmons cleared his throat nervously.

"Um, Gerald, this is such a special story, but it's a little scary. Perhaps everyone would like to listen as I share some moral anecdotes or uplifting spiritual tales instead?"

Some the villagers groaned, and Gerald shook his head, a little annoyed at being interrupted.

"Anyway, a sound came through the trees. The villagers thought it was just the wind rustling through the leaves, but it got louder and louder. The old man stopped begging. He just stood there and stared at them, and then – out from the treetops – they came! Black shapes in the night, fluttering wings and sparkling eyes in the torchlight, swooping down on those villagers! Pigeons! Most of the villagers turned and ran for their lives, but a few of the brave ones found shelter and kept watching, and do you know what they saw?

"That flock of pigeons that attacked them turned back and gathered around that old man. He held his arms up into the air, and the pigeons gathered around him like they were all one creature. The villagers who were hiding watched as the old man's feathered friends lifted him up into the air. He went up, up into the sky, leaving his world behind, and after that night... well, after that night, nobody ever saw the Pigeon Man again."

"But sometimes," said Gerald –

He stopped and looked out over his audience. Lila held a hand to her mouth, obviously a bit spooked, and Stinky was holding onto Lila's other arm. Friar Simmons let out a faint "oh my!" while Tailor Kokoshka's mouth hung open, a bit of pigeon still hanging from it. Gerald made sure to give him a close look before he continued.

"Sometimes," he said, "late at night, if you happen to be stupid enough to be walking around at the edge of the forest and you listen really carefully, you might hear a _coo, coo_! And you might think it's just a pigeon. But if you go into that forest, and you look hard enough, you'll see a shack beneath a tree. Now, I've never seen this personally, but if you're unlucky enough, you might just run into the Pigeon Man himself, visiting his old home. Out for revenge against the villagers that drove him away."

Gerald crossed his arms ominously as he looked over his audience.

"Or so I've been told."

The only sound in the village square was the playful crackling of the bonfire, along with the occasional hoot of a distant owl. The edge of the forest was in plain view past the outskirts of the village. Some of the villagers strained their ears, listening for the sound of cooing, but they could hear nothing. Eventually, the villagers added a few scattered claps to the sound of the fire in recognition of another good tale.

"I think that is just a big joke," said Tailor Kokoshka.

Gerald pointed into the darkness. "Don't believe me? Go into the forest and check it out for yourself."

Tailor Kokoshka thought about the proposition. Ernie – who, as a tree cutter, was often in the forest himself when it was daytime and had even seen the shack – nudged him on the shoulder in encouragement.

Kokoshka had also seen the shack Gerald was talking about, and he had always thought it was old and abandoned. But then again...

"Eh, I'll pass."

XX

As the dancing went on in the Great Hall, Lady Rhonda sat in her chair at the far end of the room and idly nibbled at some pieces of candied fruit. The table in front of her was separated from the other tables, and along with her husband's chair, was raised on a platform to emphasize the importance of the Lady and Lord of the castle.

Rhonda was a little displeased as she watched her guests dancing in front of her. She had not actually started the dancing herself, and hadn't said anything officially to begin the festival yet. People just sort of started when they came in, regardless of what she wanted – it was downright inconsiderate. She got up and brushed some candied fruit chunks off her signature red evening gown.

"Attention, all ye people dancing around in here!"

Rhonda grabbed an iron goblet and slammed it down on the oak table several times until the chatter in the Great Hall died down and everyone turned to face the Lord and Lady of the castle. Rhonda looked at the crowd and noticed that Cecile and Arnold were gone. Not that she was complaining – Arnold's outfit had been horrifically garish, and Cecile's choice of dress, while passable, did not measure up to those worn by the other noblewomen. Still, she wondered why they were absent.

"I wanted to say a few words about the purpose of this festival," she said. "The dirt clod harvest is near completion, and it looks like it was a good year for clods. We are all here to celebrate the end of the harvest season and to hope for an even better yield next year – as long as those peasants put their backs into it, that is!"

A few chuckles and guffaws rang out from the crowd.

"I am happy to grace you all with the privilege of entering my castle and marveling at my taste in interior decoration – no, really, no thanks are necessary. Well, just a little, but not right now. I hope you've been enjoying the festivities, and of course you're welcome to be our guests in the castle for as long as you'd like, as long as it's not more than a few days. Most of you are my vassals, and those of you aren't are still of course being paid a great honor by being invited to this festival, so I assume you all brought gifts to pay homage to us. Please leave them in the gift chamber, my page has the details."

Rhonda waved absently to the eager page standing by her side. The Great Hall was silent, save for a lone cough coming from the corner of the room, as they waited for Lady Rhonda to keep droning on.

"Alright, fine, get back to dancing now."

The festival guests went back to their entertainment as Rhonda sunk into her seat. Curly began to sniff her hair. She normally found it thrilling when he sniffed her hair, but it was highly inappropriate to be doing it in public, and Rhonda felt like she was stuck in a bit of a funk anyway.

"Ew, Curly - lay off the hair."

"Sorry, I'm just bored," Curly said. "These things aren't very fun, sweetcakes. I was hoping that Pataki girl would have some amusing anecdotes to share."

"Well, she's a no show. I'm going to have to give her a piece of my mind for declining such a rare opportunity." Rhonda was somehow both relieved that Helga had not showed up in the one bright pink outfit that she seemed to own, and on the other hand, mildly insulted that she had not showed up at all. "You know, I don't know why you invited Arnold either," she said in a huff.

"This is a clod harvest festival. He's a clod farmer."

"Exactly! He doesn't fit in here. Next thing you know, he's going to go back to his village and tell all his peasant friends about it, and they'll all come over here begging for alms."

Curly listened to his wife's rants, and he knew the real reason why she did not want Arnold invited to the festival. It was true that she never would have invited a peasant in the first place, but Arnold in particular was not a guest she had wanted to see. She had been looking guilty the whole night. Curly had noticed her stealing glances at Arnold during the beginning of the festival and looking relieved when the peasant had disappeared with that Cecile character.

Rhonda hadn't even wanted to check on Hill's Wood near the culmination of the clod harvest, but Curly had wanted to get a little fresh air, and he found it interesting to see how the peasants lived, so he had suggested it until she gave in. Once he had seen Arnold in his village, he had been unable to resist inviting him. Maybe it was because he wanted to right past wrongs. He knew that Rhonda would never do it herself.

"Court Jester!"

Lady Rhonda yelled in no particular direction for the jester, Eugene. After a moment, Eugene popped out from amongst the crowd, the bells attached to his jester's hat ringing as he stooped with a bow.

"Do something funny," Lady Rhonda commanded.

"Maybe I should put on one of my funny costumes?" asked Eugene.

"Yes, that sounds good."

"Immediately, milady! I'll be back soon!"

Rhonda sighed as Eugene raced off to find his court jester's supplies and proceed to smack right into a nobleman, who ended up soaking himself with his own glass of wine. It was alright – Rhonda did not like that particular nobleman. While she waited for Eugene to return, two other nobles approached the table of the Lord and Lady.

"Hello Lady Rhonda," said Duchess Patty, dragging her husband behind her as he feebly tried to reach for a roasted turkey leg on a nearby table. "We were honored to be invited to your festival. You always hold he best parties."

Rhonda thought there was a note of indifference in Patty's voice, maybe even condescension, but it was hard to tell with her flat tone. Duke Harold, however, was more excited by the festivities.

"This is some great food!" he said.

"I have to agree," said another nobleman standing nearby. "This is almost better than what we ate in the Old Country. Ehehehe!"

Curly looked the nobleman over. Someone his wife had invited, probably. "What's your name again?" he asked.

"Count Kokoshka, at your service."

"Do you have some relative over in the hamlet of Hill's Wood?" Curly asked. "You look a bit familiar."

"Um, no way. I do not know what you are talking about. See you later!"

Count Kokoshka slunk nervously away, back to browse the piles of food on the nearby tables. Curly gave an indifferent grunt as he left.

"By the way," said Harold through a mouthful of food, "I heard you talking about dirt clods earlier and I was wondering, what's up with that anyway? What do the peasants do with the dirt clods when they harvest them?"

"They bail them and let them dry out a little, and we send out servants to collect them and store them in the castle store rooms. Like, duh," Lady Rhonda said haughtily.

"Yeah, alright, but then what do _you_ guys do with the clods?"

"We give them to distributors, who take them to various lands."

"What do _they_ do? Sell them? And to who?"

Lady Rhonda sighed in exasperation. "Look, Harold, I don't know. Knowing such things is below my dignity. It's just the way things are done, alright? The peasants harvest the clods, and Lord Thaddeus and I stay in the castle and send out people to take their clods."

Harold scratched his head. He wasn't sure he understood the system any more clearly, but Lady Rhonda sure seemed to be confident about how it worked.

The group turned at the sound of a scream and noticed that the court jester, Eugene, had returned to the Great Hall. He was in a gorilla costume and appeared to have knocked a torch from its wall sconce and lit himself on fire, seeing as he was running around in flames. The other guests drew back in terror.

"Stop drop and roll!" Curly shouted.

Eugene got down and rolled on the ground to put out his smoking fur.

"I'm okay!"

Harold laughed at the scene, but Patty admonished him with a slap on the arm.

Rhonda covered her face with her hand, regretting that she had called on Eugene for entertainment. Court jesters were supposed to act foolish, but only in highly orchestrated ways. Eugene's clumsiness tended to cause a lot of damage. The guests were now coughing and choking as smoke and the acrid stench of singed fur blanketed the room.

Rhonda looked over at her husband in the adjacent chair, who was grinning from ear to ear. She managed a weak smile back, but she was still suspicious of why he had invited Arnold to the festival. Hopefully her husband would not be making things awkward for her.

XX

Arnold felt himself pulled into a dark room before he knew what was happening.

"In here!"

They fell with a crash against something metallic in the darkness, sprawling across the floor and bringing whatever it was down with them. Cecile had fallen on top of Arnold. And while she wasn't heavy, that _really_ hurt. She rolled off with breathless laughter as Arnold looked out at the torch-lit hallway through the door frame. After a moment, the guards that Cecile had been trying to avoid passed in front of the door and looked in at them.

"Uh, hello," Arnold said apologetically.

The guards rolled their eyes in exasperation, one of them motioning with his thumb for the two of them to get out of the store room, and kept walking down the hall. Cecile pulled Arnold up with a laugh as they left the room, continuing on their way through the castle. Arnold was sure they would have been in deep trouble, but apparently Lady Rhonda's guards either weren't on duty or didn't particularly care.

A whirlwind of stone and guttering torch-flame passed Arnold by as he was led throughout the castle by the strange noblewoman he had just met. They had left the Great Hall and explored every nook, every cranny, every winding stairway. Arnold had never imagined a building could have so many rooms – he thought more than one was a luxury. Storerooms, guest bedrooms, a chapel, a kitchen with a nearby buttery and pantry, and a few locked doors here and there. They had found a couple of rooms being watched by armed guards – one looked like it led into the castle dungeons, and the other, as the slightly inebriated guard had informed them, was the entrance to the castle's treasury.

They had exhausted the interior of the castle, and now Arnold was struggling to keep up as Cecile led him up a dark, winding staircase. They tripped a few times. Cecile laughed uproariously, and Arnold felt a draft of fresh air coming from above them as they turned up, up, up. Finally they reached the top. The stairway led to an open tower rooftop, surrounded by parapets and illuminated by the light of a full moon. Cecile walked to the edge of the roof and stared out over the landscape beneath them as Arnold joined her.

"What a splendid view," she said.

Arnold had to agree.

The dark fields around the castle were sprinkled with the occasional flashing lights of fireflies. It wasn't possible to see his own hamlet, since the dark tree line of the distant forest would have obscured any of the small dwellings there. There was a faint glow in its general direction, though. Arnold wondered if they had a bonfire going in the village center.

Helga's town, however, was close enough to the castle that he could make out the dim outlines of its rooftops, particularly the top of the monastery. Arnold looked at the rooftops of Helga's town and wondered where she was right now. She had not showed up to the castle at all. Now that he thought about it, he was beginning to realize why Cecile seemed so familiar.

"Do you know anyone by the name of Helga Pataki?" he asked Cecile.

Helga coughed loudly, choking for a moment and beating herself on the chest.

"Whoa, sorry. Little dormouse came up there."

Helga remembered that she was trying to be a bit more sophisticated than usual, and altered the tone of her voice a little. "Helga? Why yes, she's a distant cousin of mine. I believe she lives down in that town, as a matter of fact. Why do you ask?"

"Ah, that explains it. I thought you looked kind of similar to her, even though you act totally different."

The view from the tower rooftop was beautiful, but Arnold had been running through the castle with Cecile for a long time, and he decided he needed a brief rest. He sat down with his back to the parapet. Cecile pulled up her gown a little to crouch down and sit by his side.

"So why were you in such a hurry to get away from my cousin?" Arnold asked her.

"Wasn't it obvious? I hope I don't sound rude, but he was a little dull."

Arnold had expected the answer, but he still had to laugh.

"You know, just this morning I was harvesting some dirt clods, and here I am on a castle rooftop," he said as he marveled at the strange turn his life had taken. He wanted to add that he was on a castle rooftop with the most interesting woman he had ever met, but he was worried about running before he could walk – that was how Gerald had put it, at least. He didn't want to freak Cecile out by getting too romantic too quickly. He'd have to thank Gerald later for that pickup line, too.

"Harvesting dirt clods?" Helga asked him. She realized that, while she had been around Arnold many times in the past on her visits to Hill's Wood, she had never really asked him very much about his life. Maybe now was her opportunity.

"Yeah, that's right. Soon they'll be picked up and transported here to the castle store rooms."

"What happens to them then? What are they for?"

"I don't know," Arnold admitted. "I'm just a lowly peasant. But what about you, Cecile? What do you do? Tell me more about yourself, your family. I want to know everything about you."

Helga blushed at Arnold's interest, even though a nagging voice in the back of her mind told her that he wasn't interested in the life story of Helga, only of Cecile. Still, she was enjoying the attention. She refused to get bogged down in the details of where it was coming from or why she was getting it.

"Well, I have a father who's a real pain in the -" She noticed Arnold's curious expression and changed her tone again. "I mean, my father is ever so difficult sometimes. He's very busy with his nobleman's duties."

Helga frowned as she realized that getting into too much detail might blow her cover. She didn't really know what nobleman's duties were in the first place. She was about to complain about her sister as well, but she had complained about her life to Arnold on numerous occasions in the past. If she wasn't careful, he might notice how Cecile and Helga seemed to have identical lives. This was turning out to be more difficult than she had expected.

"But enough about me," she said, hoping to change the subject, "what about you? Tell me about your family. I'd like to know more about you as well."

"Me? I'm not much to talk about," said Arnold.

"You sell yourself short."

Helga had not meant the comment as a pun on Arnold's height, but fortunately he didn't seem to notice.

"Well," said Arnold, "I was raised by my grandparents in Hill's Wood, and they died recently."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks. It's still hard to think about sometimes, but I guess it's part of life."

Arnold was reminded of his parents and felt a little disappointed that he didn't have much to share with Cecile about them.

"I don't know much about my parents – they left when I was a child, before I can remember. My grandparents told me they had the wanderlust and wanted to travel south, to see what there was to see and help people along the way. Grandpa Phil always told me that Miles and Stella had a passion for going on adventures.

"And they liked to give people a helping hand – he always told stories about them rescuing helpless villagers from dragons and ogres and that kind of thing. Real wild stories," said Arnold as he fondly recollected some of the tales. "Even if any of it's true, it kind of surprises me. I barely have time to get a good night's sleep after I've been working in the fields all day. I can't imagine how they could manage to go on adventures like that."

"What about you?" asked Helga, already knowing the answer to the question she was about to ask. "Do you think you have anything in common with them?"

"From what my grandparents have said, yeah. I guess I do like to help people. I try to work things out whenever there's an argument in the village. And I've always felt like maybe I have an adventurer's spirit, even if I've never gotten the chance to explore it. I don't feel like I was meant to be a clod farmer. But then, I doubt anyone in the village would say anything differently if you asked them," laughed Arnold. "I mean, clod farming wasn't exactly anyone's childhood dream, except maybe Stinky's. But I guess you're born into a certain life, and that's what you have to live with."

By this time, Arnold and Cecile had both sunk down until they were laying against the cool stone roof, looking up at the night sky. Arnold looked up at the stars embroidered across the black tapestry overhead. They wove patterns that reminded him of the jewels he had seen shimmering on the clothing of noblewomen down below in the Great Hall as they twirled and danced.

Arnold turned his head and looked at the young woman beside him. He hadn't had the chance to talk to anyone else at the festival, although he wanted to talk to his cousin a little more, but he got the feeling that Cecile was not like the rest of them. There was something thrilling in the way she treated him with such familiarity. She was completely unrestrained around him, as if she had already known him for a long time.

Cecile had taken her hat off before laying on the ground, and there was enough moonlight that Arnold could make out her features. She _did_ look a lot like Helga. Arnold's eyes moved from her face to her finger as she lifted an arm and pointed it up in the air.

"Maybe you'd like to have some adventures up there," she said.

Arnold looked up at the moon's pale orb.

"I don't even know what that is, really. My friend Gerald says it's made out of cheese."

Helga snorted. "He would say – uh – I mean, you don't say?"

"Yeah. He's a big fan of cheese though."

Arnold watched as Cecile shifted her finger languidly back and forth in the air, tracing lines over the white dots that pinpricked the night sky. She sighed as she let her hand drop back down.

"Do you ever wonder what those are?" she asked.

Arnold had wondered on occasion, but he spent most of his time looking at the earth. He did not answer, and instead looked at Cecile, waiting for her thoughts on the matter. He got the feeling she had her own opinions on the subject, since she had brought it up.

"I like to think that maybe they're other worlds," she said. "Maybe there are other people living up there. Not peasants or nobles or merchants or knights... just people, all of them equal. Maybe everybody has a castle, or they all share a few between them."

Arnold had to admit that Cecile's imagination was more vivid than his own.

"What's this?" he asked as he picked up Cecile's hat.

A small yellow flower was tucked into a ribbon attached to the hat. He knew it was a dandelion, but he was wondering why it was there. Maybe it was just decoration, but none of the other noblewomen he had seen downstairs had flowers for decorations, and a dandelion seemed like a strange choice.

"It's a dandelion," she said. "My favorite flower."

Arnold picked the flower out of the hat.

"Well, I guess tonight it will be my favorite flower too."

"What, you're stealing it?"

The question was asked teasingly, and Arnold stuck his tongue out and pocketed the flower in his surcoat as Cecile watched with a mock indignant stare. Maybe he would keep it as a memento. Although, like tonight, he knew that it would not last long.

Arnold was surprised at how quickly he had gotten past Lila's rejection now that he had met someone new. He was liking Cecile more by the minute, but his feelings were tempered by the knowledge that it would all soon be gone. Cecile was a noblewoman from far away, and soon she would leave again. But at least he could enjoy the moment.


	5. Families and Farewells

**Families and Farewells**

XX

The bonfire in the village square died down, and the villagers of Hill's Wood soon retreated to their humble homes to pass the rest of the night in peaceful – or in the case of Tailor Kokoshka, somewhat fitful – slumber. The attendees at Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus's festival had also retired to the castle's guest rooms to pass the night within the safety of its walls, as most of them did not want to travel the distance back to their own homes until daylight. The moon passed its time in the night sky, and when it was ready to rest, it sank down into its bed beneath the horizon and invited the sun to take its place. Before the sun was even in sight, Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus were already awake in their four-post bed, talking about the events of the night before.

"I still can't believe you invited Arnold to the dance!"

"Oh, come on," said Curly. "He was dressed a lot better than you expected, admit it."

Rhonda grumbled as she thought about Arnold dancing with that strange noblewoman, Cecile. They had struck an odd couple, Cecile being dressed more poorly than the average woman of her social stature, and Arnold wearing his ridiculous outfit. Although Rhonda had to reluctantly admit that Arnold was definitely looking snappier than your average clod farmer. Her silence was answer enough to Curly.

"I've never seen that woman Cecile before," he said. "Where did she say she came from again?"

"I don't know, the east or something. I didn't get the chance to talk to her much. I'm still annoyed Helga Pataki failed to accept the graceful invitation."

"Hmm, no. She never did show up, did she."

"I bet you were just crushed. I know how much you love talking to her."

Curly gave his wife a good-natured smile and pulled her a little closer to him. The sun began to shine through the narrow window set into the stone wall opposite them, bathing their bed in a sheen of gold. He gave his wife a peck on the cheek. Rhonda was still being standoffish, but even a small token of affection was enough to start breaking down her barriers.

"We'll have to go down to the Great Hall soon and say goodbye to the guests as they depart," she pointed out.

"Maybe it can wait."

Curly gave her another kiss, and Rhonda decided that maybe there _was_ a little time to spare.

XX

Arnold had also gotten up early. As he wandered through the slumbering castle, he was surprised to come upon Cecile in the Great Hall, about to push open the hefty wooden doors and leave the castle.

"Cecile! Are you leaving already?"

Helga whipped around at the sound of the voice. She had been hoping to sneak out of the castle before the rest of the guests took their leave. Partly because she knew it would be difficult to say goodbye to Arnold and the magic of last night, returning to the old Helga who laid abuse on him every time she saw him, and partly because she was worried that her disguise would not last. A dark veil, makeup, plucked eyebrows, and a change in hairstyle had fooled everyone the night before. But in broad daylight? Helga wasn't sure if it could hold up. She didn't want to stick around and find out, and she had only minutes to spare. But of course, it was now that Arnold had to reappear.

"Yes, Arnold, I have to go home to, uh – to the east. There's not a moment to spare."

"But it's so soon!" said Arnold.

"Important noblewomen's duties and all," said Helga with a nervous laugh.

Helga was about turn back and push the doors open when Arnold held out a hand to stop her.

"Look, I know this is a little forward, but I haven't met anyone like you before, Cecile. Last night, it was – well, it was magical. And it's not just the fact that I'm usually in the middle of a dirt field all day, it was you. It was being with you." He waited to see if Cecile would respond, but she still looked like she was on the verge of leaving. "Are you ever going to come back?" he asked.

"I can't say for sure."

Helga watched Arnold's smile droop into a frown and felt herself longing to reach out and comfort him, to tell him that she would stay forever, but she wouldn't even be speaking in her own voice. Once again, it would be Cecile, stealing her true feelings and depriving her of the opportunity of sharing them with Arnold. She began to wonder if pretending to be someone else had been a big mistake. Maybe she would come to regret her memories of last night.

"Arnold, I want you to know," she said, "I feel the same way about you. It's just more complicated than you think."

Arnold looked down at the outfit he had worn to the dance and remembered the worn tunic and uncomfortable clogs he wore every other day of his life. He knew that the Arnold standing there was not the Arnold Cecile would ever see again, even if she _did_ come back.

"Is it because of me?" he said. "I mean, because I'm a peasant, and you're, well – you?"

Helga shook her head.

"No, it's not. Well – I don't know. That does make it more complicated. I don't care about that, Arnold, but other people do, and it's more than that anyway. If you knew who I really was, you wouldn't care that I was leaving."

"How can you say that?"

"Arnold, I have to go now. Even if you never see me again, please, just remember last night."

Arnold rushed forward as Cecile rushed out of the open door. She was already passing through the courtyard, through the gatehouse where the guards had just opened the castle gates in preparation for the first guests to begin leaving. He followed in her footsteps.

"Wait!"

He tried to keep up, but Cecile was freakishly fast for a noblewoman, as he had discovered the previous night as they ran about the castle. She hiked up her dress and ran as fast as her feet would carry her. Arnold had no idea where she was running off to – at first it looked like she was going towards the town where Helga and Phoebe lived, but then Cecile abruptly shifted direction as she passed over the fields outside the castle, growing smaller in the distance. Arnold slowed down, realizing the chase was futile.

Soon she would be just a memory.

Arnold turned back into the castle with a sigh. Cecile's abrupt departure confounded him. He began to walk through the Great Hall lost in a haze as he thought about what had happened. He knew there was a spark between them the other night, and Cecile had just admitted it herself before leaving, so why was she in such a hurry? What could possibly make her need to leave so quickly?

The most likely explanation, Arnold thought, was that he was kidding himself. Maybe they had enjoyed themselves last night, but they were from two different worlds. Compared to Arnold, Cecile was as far away as those people she had imagined living up in the stars as they lay on the castle rooftop the night before. There was no way it would work between them. Arnold had gotten his hopes up just a little too much – last night was a fluke that the rest of his friends in Hill's Wood would never experience, and it was a mistake for Arnold to have hoped for more. Spending an evening and a morning in Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus's castle was more than most peasants got to experience in a lifetime.

Cecile's flight still lingered in Arnold's mind, her dress flouncing about as she tore off into the rising sun, but he hoped he could focus on other things.

He still hadn't gotten a chance to talk to Arnie, for instance. As strange as his cousin was, Arnold knew that it was a rare opportunity to speak with a relative when the rest of his family was now gone. He supposed Arnie would be looking for Cecile as well, judging by the way he had seemed focused on her last night. Arnold would have to let his cousin know she had left already.

He was passing through a hallway on his way to the guest rooms, hoping to find Arnie, when he noticed the store room that he and Cecile had slipped into during their romp through the castle. Arnold smiled at the memory. Cecile had sidestepped into the room with him to avoid a few guards that had appeared from down the hallway. In the darkness, they had both collapsed in the dim store room after tripping on something on the ground, making a great clatter as they knocked over what felt like a suit of armor. The guards had noticed, but apparently they didn't care about the escapades of a couple of Lady Rhonda's guests as much as Cecile had expected.

The store room was still dark, and Arnold removed a torch from its wall sconce as he entered the room, hoping to see what he and Cecile had sent flying across the floor. Sure enough, it was a suit of armor. The helmet lay on the far side of the floor, staring up at him as if rebuking him for waking it up with the light of the torch.

Arnold looked around the rest of the room, noticing a number of barrels, a few broken pieces of furniture, other items that looked like they hadn't been used in years. Unlike a couple of the other store rooms they had seen, this one didn't look very useful. Maybe it was a room where things were thrown away when they were no longer needed.

Arnold shifted the torch to one object that looked a little different than the others, wanting to get a better look. What he saw there gave him such a shock that he dropped the torch to the ground. The shadows of the room shifted and scurried away as he picked up the torch again, illuminating the object in the warm glow of the flames. He looked more closely.

It was a painting in a gold-trimmed, lacquered wooden frame. A portrait of two people. A father smiled out from the canvas, his arm wrapped around a mother, who cradled a baby with a bow-shaped head and cornflower hair in her arms.

Arnold had found his parents.

XX

If even one more conflicted emotion wormed its way into Helga's heart, she was certain she would explode. Her already dramatic disposition was being stretched to its limit by the events of the previous night and the morning's more recent parting from her love. It was the best night she could ever remember having, and yet now she might never be able to act so openly around Arnold again. Why was she so stupid? Why did she have to hide her true feelings under a mask of brazen impudence any time she was fortunate enough to enjoy the company of that beautiful boy?

"Oh hey Pheebs."

She had arrived at her friend's house, a little short of breath after having taken a circuitous route from the castle until she was sure that Arnold was not following her. Phoebe sat in a chair outside her front door, enjoying the fresh air and reading a codex. She perked up visibly when she saw her best friend approaching, knowing that Helga was sure to have interesting stories about the castle festival.

"Helga! I'm glad to see you again!"

Phoebe went inside briefly to put her reading away – her parents were back from their business trip, and Helga greeted them before they went upstairs to Phoebe's room. Helga had left her normal clothing, including her bright pink kirtle, in Phoebe's room before she had changed into her noblewoman's outfit for the festival. Now that it was over, she changed back into her normal clothes so she could avoid too many questions from her own family when she went back home.

Helga said goodbye to Phoebe's parents when they went outside again. It was usually an unspoken habit that the two of them would take walks around town when they wanted to talk about things. Phoebe would have been just as happy sitting in one place, but she knew that her friend had an excitable temperament. Phoebe looked at Helga's normal outfit with a smirk.

"I presume you are happier in pink than you are wearing noblewomen's clothing?"

"Got that right," said Helga. "Wearing that flouncy stuff just doesn't feel right. And man, you shoulda seen the outfit some of those people at the festival were wearing!"

"Seeing as I wasn't there, you'll have to tell me everything," Phoebe pointed out.

"Um, I don't even know where to start. I pretended to be someone else the whole time, and then-"

Phoebe cut her off. "Someone else?"

"Yeah. We made me look too good, Phoebe. Lady Rhonda didn't recognize me and I just called myself Cecile, kind of on a whim, and it went on from there. But anyway, Arnold didn't recognize me either, and we ended up having the most amazing night together. Phoebe, you wouldn't believe it! And he has the wackiest cousin, so we tried to – wait – hold on."

Helga fished a couple of baked and stuffed dormice from her pocket, which she had been holding ever since she stole them from the castle kitchen the night before.

"Want one?" she asked Phoebe as she held one out.

"Um, no thanks."

"Suit yourself."

Helga put one back and took a big bite out of the other as they walked through town. They passed the monastery again, which looked down at them from atop its hill, and an icy feeling shot down Helga's spine as she glanced up at its stern stone facade and imposing wooden doors. She began to realize that, in all the excitement of the previous night, she had not done anything productive at the castle festival. At least nothing that would be productive in her father's eyes. The thought had nagged her ever since she woke up earlier that morning, but she had been trying to hide it in the depths of her mind. Now, the sight of the monastery was forcing it to the surface.

Soon she would have to go home and face Portly Bob's questions.

"Anyway," she said, trying to stave off the thought just a little longer, "you should have seen what Arnold was wearing, Pheebs. I swear, it was the hottest thing I've ever seen."

Phoebe grinned as she listened to Helga's impassioned tales of the night before. It wasn't often that Helga spoke so plainly about Arnold and her love for him, but it was clear that the festival had made an impression on her. Phoebe wished she had been able to go – perhaps it would have been interesting to attend with some other peasant. Not that she had any particular one in mind, of course. But at least for the moment, she was happy enough living vicariously through her best friend.

XX

Arnold could not remember his parents, but Phil and Pookie had described them to him on many a night as he asked to hear about them when they tucked him into bed. Even if Arnold _hadn't_ heard them describe his parents before, he would recognize them now: his father's cornflower hair, his mother's bow-shaped head, and most importantly, the baby in her arms that looked uncannily like him, even in its infancy.

Also, the label on the bottom that read "The Child Arnold, with Parents" was helpful.

He stared at the picture with a mixture of bittersweet emotions. This was the first time he had ever seen or heard of his parents outside of the stories his grandparents had told him. At least, it was the first time he could remember seeing them. The way they stared out from the painting made him think they were welcoming him, showing him how much he was loved. And yet Arnold knew that this painting was the closest he would ever get to them. They had disappeared before he could remember them, and they had been gone for years. Arnold always liked to look on the bright side of things, but deep down - buried in a feeling that never quite came to words - Arnold did not think they were coming back.

He wiped a tear from his eye and began to wonder if seeing the painting was such a good thing. As he continued to look, however, the initial shock of seeing his parents for the first time was replaced by a rising sense of curiosity. Why was this portrait in Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus's castle – and why were his parents dressed in the same kind of outfits that he had seen the aristocrats wearing while they danced last night?

"Hello Arnold."

The torch almost dropped to the ground again as Arnold jumped at the voice. His cousin Arnie had entered the room. Arnie stood by his side, staring at the portrait in the flickering firelight.

"Arnie... have you seen this before?"

His cousin nodded.

"What does it mean? Why are they dressed like that? I've lived in Hill's Wood with my grandparents for my whole life, and now I come here and see this weird portrait thrown away in some store room – I don't get it."

Arnie's sigh managed to sound as monotonous as his speaking voice. When he had arrived at the castle and heard that his rural cousin would be attending the festival, he knew that some questions would probably arise about their family. But he hadn't expected Arnold to find something like this.

"Your grandparents used to be nobles, Arnold. Vassals of Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus."

Arnold gaped. Grandpa Phil had told him some fantastic tales in the past, to be sure, but neither of his grandparents had ever said anything about this.

Arnie motioned for them to leave the store room and take a walk through the halls, and while Arnold was hesitant to leave his parents' portrait behind, he decided it wouldn't be going anywhere while he was gone.

"I don't know many details about this," said Arnie, "since I'm not much older than you. All I know is there was some kind of falling out between your grandparents and Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus. I haven't really asked for any details, since I'm a relative of theirs, and you know how fortunes rise and fall when it comes to noble families."

Arnold did not know, but he had to take his cousin's word for it.

"I didn't want to draw much attention to myself, and I was busy with my own life anyway. I've been working on this new invention where you can put lists of ingredients on food, and I just came back from a war in the east, you know."

Arnold nodded politely.

"All I heard was that your grandparents were expelled from the castle and sent to live at Hill's Wood, where they raised you."

"What about my parents?" Arnold asked.

"I don't know anything about them – _gnnk_ - I just know they disappeared before your grandparents were kicked out of the castle. You'd have to ask Lady Rhonda or Lord Thaddeus for the details, but you know how Lady Rhonda can be. That's why I don't know much myself."

Arnold nodded, and conveniently enough, their walk through the castle hallways was taking them towards the Great Hall. From the sound of the activity coming from inside the room, Arnold guessed that most of the guests had already gotten up by now and were enjoying a morning meal and some more socializing before they returned to their own lands. They entered the room to find it thrumming with nobles and servants. Arnold looked for the Lord and Lady of the castle as his cousin looked for the mysterious noblewoman who had caught his attention – and his heart – the night before.

"Do you happen to see Cecile anywhere," he asked Arnold.

"Oh, she left already. Sorry."

Arnie felt his hopes drop like a stone. He also felt a pang of jealousy – Cecile had run off through the castle with Arnold the night before, and now she had left without even saying goodbye to him. Maybe she was just playing hard to get.

"Did she say where she lived?"

Arnold looked at his cousin a bit hesitantly. Arnie had seemed interested in Cecile the night before, and the thought made Arnold feel his own pang of jealousy. But after his cousin had shared what he knew about their family, Arnold did not feel like it was right to hold back.

"She didn't say anything specific, just that she came from the east. But she did tell me she was a related to Helga Pataki. Helga is a merchant's daughter in the town near the castle. She was supposed to show up at the festival but I never saw her."

Arnie thanked his cousin and asked for Arnold's pardon while he went off to talk to a few other noblemen, but Arnold was already distracted by the sight of Lord Thaddeus speaking to a group of people. Arnold felt a bit nervous about broaching the subject of his family, but he knew he would be unable to resist. Not only that, but Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus had invited him to the festival in the first place – all these sudden twists and turns in his life seemed like too much to be coincidences. There must have been a reason for inviting him besides the fact that his cousin would be attending.

"Lord Thaddeus," said Arnold as he approached the group, "I beg your pardon, but I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions."

"What about?"

"About my family."

Several people who were gathered around them grew quiet, as if they sensed some kind of change in the atmosphere. In particular, they noticed a subtle change in Lord Thaddeus's expression. They bowed and took their leave when he waved them off.

"Alright. What is it you wanted to ask?"

"Well," said Arnold, "I just saw a portrait of my parents in a store room, and I was wondering why something like that would be there. And I remember my grandparents mentioning something to me in the past about being nobles at some point."

Arnold was lying about his grandparents mentioning their past life as nobility to him, but he did not want to let it slip that his cousin had told him anything, in case it turned out Arnold's family was a taboo subject in the castle.

Curly nodded at the question. He had invited Arnold to the festival expecting him to talk to his cousin and ask about his family, and sure enough, Arnold was not disappointing him. Curly knew his wife didn't want Arnold around – she certainly hadn't wanted to invite him to the festival - but he had seen the peasant working in the fields before, and when they came upon him with Helga that day, he had been unable to resist asking Arnold to the castle. He thought it might be best to get things out in the open.

"Yes," he told Arnold. "Your grandparents were nobles. They owned some land nearby where they raised your father, Miles, and they were frequent guests at this castle. Eventually your father stayed here as a retainer, serving the Lloyds. He married your mother Stella at about the same time. Lord Lloyd and Lady Wellington had also been recently married, and they gave birth to my wife around when your parents arrived to serve them here at the castle.

"Your parents served Rhonda's family for a long time. Both of them always had an interest in medicine and helping others, and they eventually served as court physicians to the Lloyds. One day they gave birth to you here in the castle. You were all a happy family, but at the same time I believe they grew increasingly unhappy under the rule of Lady Rhonda's parents."

"Why is that?" asked Arnold.

Curly raised an eyebrow. "I love my wife, but the in-laws were insane. Not that I'm one to talk, but I'm just glad she didn't take after them as much as she could have. You had to behave exactly the way they wanted you to behave if you served under them. They were very strict. Very proper about everything."

Arnold thought that described Rhonda to a tee, but apparently he was fortunate not to have met her parents.

"Anyway, your parents raised you in the castle, and your grandparents often stayed here as well, even though they owned land past the forest. Things seemed idyllic on the surface, but there was a lot of tension between the Lloyds and the Shortmans.

"One day, news arrived to the castle about the spread of a great sickness in the south. Your parents wanted to help – some of your relatives lived there, but more than that, they were never able to resist an adventure and the opportunity to help people in need. Even before you ended up in Hill's Wood, they would visit your village sometimes to treat anyone who was sick, which did not sit well with the Lloyds. I think your parents also saw the sickness in the south as an opportunity to put some space between themselves and the Lloyds, maybe to defuse some tensions.

"They left you with your grandparents since the journey was too dangerous, thinking that they would be back eventually. Unfortunately, time passed with no word from them. Now, your grandparents were just as unpopular with the Lloyds – particularly your grandmother, Gertrude, she was always quite a character. Pretending to be other people half the time, running around like a madwoman. The Lloyds used your parents' departures to claim that they were betrayed by the Shortman family, and took the opportunity to confiscate your grandparents' land and exile them to Hill's Wood, where they raised you. And, as you know, you have all lived there as peasants since then."

Arnold listened in shock at the story. As soon as he had seen the portrait in the store room, he had wondered if his parents or his grandparents had some connection to nobility, but Lord Thaddeus's tale was even more than he had expected.

"Why would they never tell me this?" he asked.

"Your grandparents, you mean? I assume they didn't want you to get your hopes up and make you dream of a life you couldn't have. Or perhaps they were disenchanted with their old life, and they thought you would be better off living the life of a peasant. I can't say for sure.

"Let me say, though, that I did not want to punish your grandparents. I was very fond of Philip and Gertrude, and of Miles and Stella as well, but Rhonda's parents had the final say. There was nothing I could do. And in defense of my wife, from what little she has said to me, I think she was fond of your family as well, even if she wasn't around them as much as I was. The whole thing seems like a sore subject for her. I don't envy the life of a peasant, but even the life of a noble can have a lot of ups and downs, as your family discovered. I think that after she saw what happened to your family, Rhonda became more-"

"_Curly!_"

Neither Arnold nor Curly had been paying attention, and before they even knew what was happening, Lady Rhonda came down on them like a tornado.

"What are you doing, telling him about his family?" she said as she grabbed her husband's arm.

"I'm sorry sweetie, but he asked me."

"I can't believe this!"

Rhonda's looked like she was about to take a chunk out of her husband, her nostrils flaring with wrath, but her attention turned to Arnold, who was standing awkwardly beside them. She glared at the peasant with slitted eyes.

"How dare you come here and cause trouble when we invited you to the festival!"

Arnold stammered for a moment.

"Lady Rhonda, I-"

"How often do you think some peasant gets to come here and mingle with high society? I might have damaged my standing with some of these people," - Rhonda paused and threw out her arm in a swooping motion over the remaining guests, who were now gaping at the scene before them - "but I let my husband invite you anyway. And now that we've extended a graceful hand in charity, we find ourselves, like, _bitten?_"

Arnold tried to find the words to respond, but holding up against Lady Rhonda's rage was like trying to stop a careening carriage by standing in the middle of the road. He felt her blistering anger hit him in waves, and couldn't help but remember who he was.

He was, after all, a peasant. Cecile made him feel like something more, but Rhonda's anger brought him back down to the level of Hill's Wood. He felt himself crawling back to the dirt fields and huts, retreating from Lady Rhonda's scorn.

"Just get out," Rhonda said. Her rage had sputtered out as quickly as it came, only to be replaced by a haughty indifference.

"Lady Rhonda, I just-"

"I don't care," she said. "Talkest to the hand. You are _totally_ banished from mine sight."

Arnold felt humiliated. The heat of shame washed over his body, and being unable to stand there for another moment while everyone in the room gawked, Arnold turned around and walked to the wooden doors of the Great Hall. Just before leaving, he turned back to see Lord Thaddeus. He gave Arnold a the faintest of apologetic looks, but otherwise his head hung down, almost as cowed as Arnold. The doors closed on the castle, and Arnold walked into the fields.

Back to Hill's Wood. Back to real life. His past, and his future.

XX

Something was different about the Pataki household. Maybe it was the fact that Helga had spent the last evening and morning in a castle, highly preoccupied with certain bow-headed boys, and returning home was jarring her mentally.

Or maybe it was the horse that Helga had never seen before.

It was secured to a fence post in back of her house, opposite the shop, and it stared indifferently at Helga as she walked past it towards her back door.

She was hesitant to enter – the horse meant that her parents had a visitor – but then again, if there was a visitor, her impending confrontation about failing to find a husband at the castle festival could be postponed at least a little longer. Helga had stalled with Phoebe for as long as she could. Now it was time to pay the piper. Not the actual piper who had bothered everyone in town with his playing, that guy had left a few months ago – just a figurative piper. Again, creative liberties for the sake of storytelling.

She opened the door to find Arnold's cousin sitting at the table with her parents.

"Helga!" Portly Bob said. "Good news – I hear you met Arnie last night?"

Each of Arnie's eyes blinked, one after another, as he gave Helga a short nod.

"He came to our house wanting to know how he could find Cecile. I told him I didn't know who that was, and that we definitely didn't have any relatives by that name, and pretty soon we figured out you must have gone to the festival under a different name."

Arnie stood up from the table and walked closer to Helga, who felt a sudden urge to run back out the door. "You didn't have to pretend to be a noblewoman, Helga," he said. "Despite being a lowly merchant's daughter, you are – _gnnk_ – perfect in my eyes."

Helga felt irked by the comment. Not really because of the lowly merchant's daughter part, but because of the second part. It would have set her heart fluttering like a bird in her chest, had it only been coming from Arnold's mouth.

"Once we got things sorted out," said Portly Bob, "Arnie told us why he was looking for Cecile. Looking for you, I mean. We got some good news - he's gonna be your new husband!"


	6. Fights and Flowers

**Fights and Flowers**

XX

Arnold was in a foul mood. The excitement of learning about his past, about what had happened to his parents and grandparents, had been dashed by the way Lady Rhonda had kicked him out of the castle. The whole situation had been mortifying. Now, he was realizing that he might have just heard everything he'd ever know about his parents. Lady Rhonda was unlikely to let him back in the castle. His cousin would probably soon leave, and it sounded like he didn't have much more to tell in the first place. Considering how close the two of them were before they met last night, Arnold doubted he would see Arnie again anytime soon, especially if he had just gotten Arnie in trouble with the Lady Rhonda due to all his questioning.

The only silver lining to Arnold's cloud was Cecile. She had left before the debacle, and while Arnold regretted her hasty departure, at least she hadn't seen the way he was kicked out of the castle. He knew that his memories with Cecile would last a long time, although the fact that he would probably never see her again infused them with a faintly bitter taste.

Arnold wanted to talk about Cecile with Gerald, and he still had to thank his best friend for the good advice on the ladies, but Arnold wasn't sure if he felt like talking about the events of that morning. There was probably no way to avoid it – everyone in the village would be drilling him for information about what had happened. Villagers from Hill's Wood did not get invited to the castle every day, after all.

Arnold approached his village and traipsed across an empty clod field in which some of his fellow peasants were picking up some of the last remaining clods. Gerald was among them. Arnold was about to wave to his friend when a high-pitched ringing sound made his ears feel like they were vibrating.

"What was that?" he said as reached Gerald and looked up into the sky.

"What?"

"I don't know, it almost sounded like a scream."

Gerald leaned against the hoe he was holding as he took a break from his work.

"I dunno man, I didn't hear anything."

Arnold shrugged. Maybe it was just his imagination. Or maybe someone else was feeling as trapped by their life as he was, Arnold thought with a faint grin.

"I see you're smiling," observed Gerald. "I take it the night at the castle went pretty good. You use my pickup line?"

"Yeah, tell us," said Stinky as he stopped working and approached Arnold. Sid and Lila also gathered around their fortunate friend, hoping to hear some exciting tales of romance and – if they were lucky – maybe some stuffed dormice.

"Alright," said Arnold with a sigh. They probably wouldn't be happy until he told them the whole story, and Arnold wasn't very good at lying anyway.

"Let's see, where to begin..."

XX

The world was crashing down. A cosmic joke was being played. Helga was trying not to bolt back out the door, and Arnie was kneeling down as he asked for her hand in marriage.

"Do me the honor – _gnnk_ – of being my bride."

Everything was happening too fast, and Helga had no time to think. Her parents stared at her expectantly as they waited for her to answer Arnie's question. Well, Portly Bob was staring at her expectantly, while her mother kind of stared at nothing in particular. Helga's first instinct was to slap his hand away. To shout out her love for Arnold and tell Arnie that wild horses couldn't drag her away -

But she hesitated.

Bob looked at her with a mixture of hope and menace, and Helga knew what the consequences would be if she refused Arnie's offer. It was this, or life in a monastery – there was no mincing words about it. Helga had seen what the latter option would be like, and now she was being offered the former. She felt a little sympathy for Arnie, as she knew he would be crushed when she refused his offer. He was boring as a dirt clod, but he didn't seem like a bad person.

A face stared blankly up at her, with a faint expression that Helga could only guess was some kind of hopefulness. A face that was unsettling in its familiarity to her, uncanny in its resemblance to the peasant with the cornflower hair in Hill's Wood. Arnie's eyes were a little more lazy and heavy-lidded than Arnold's eyes, and if Helga squinted her own eyes, she could almost mistake the two of them for each other.

She thought about a future with Arnie. Wealth would be hers to enjoy. Security. Her parents would no longer be on her case, and she might even end up topping her sister's achievements. Arnie probably wasn't the worst guy to get married to. Maybe even better than someone like Duke Doug.

But still, Helga would be settling. It was a life she did not want, a life she would be forced to choose in order to avoid a life she wanted even less. And maybe her father wouldn't really go through with his threats – maybe Helga could talk to him, or her mother. It was a long shot, but as Helga looked down at the not-quite-Arnold-shaped head waiting for her answer, she asked herself a question:

Could she keep her eyes half-lidded for the rest of her life?

"Well, Helga? What do you have to say to him?" her father asked.

Helga looked up at her father, then down at Arnie.

"I'm sorry, I can't."

The response sent a visible ripple of change through the expressions of the three people in front of her. Portly Bob's change was the most obvious, his face contorting with anger. Arnie's change was also obvious; he still knelt, but it was clear that he was saddened by Helga's response. As much as she did not want to marry him, she hadn't wanted to hurt him either. Miriam's change was the least clear, but Helga was certain that she saw a glimmer of something pass through Miriam's eyes. Relief, maybe. A hint of approval at Helga's choice.

"What's going on here?" said Bob. "What's wrong with him? He's filthy freakin' rich! He came over here and asked us for permission to ask you to marry him. He said the two of you were hitting it off last night at the festival. You're killing me here, Helga!"

"Look, dad, I -" Helga turned her attention to Arnie instead. "Arnie, you seem like a good person, but I just don't feel that way about you. I can't make a decision that changes the rest of my life like that, and I like somebody else anyway."

Her father cried out in exasperation and raised his hands into the air.

"Somebody else? Who?"

"My cousin," said Arnie as he stood up. "I thought so."

"Huh? Who's your cousin?"

"He's a peasant who lives in Hill's Wood, Bob," said Helga. "That's why I go over there all the time. I'm in love with him, and that's never going to change."

A vein in Bob's neck began to pulse.

"A peasant? You gotta be kidding me – how are you going to get any money out of that? How are you going to make a life for yourself? You can't marry some peasant, Helga. Either you're marrying Arnie or you're going to the monastery, and that's final."

Helga looked to her mother for support, and while Miriam did not look happy with what her husband had said, she avoided her daughter's gaze. Even Arnie didn't seem to like seeing Helga being given an ultimatum.

Before anything else could be said, however, Helga stormed out of the house and slammed the door before her father could stop her. It wasn't like he was going to say anything new, after all. He had made up his mind. Helga had been foolish to hope she could talk to her parents, and now she had made up her own mind as well. Helga was not going to marry Arnie, and that settled things.

She knew where she'd be going when she got back. She just needed to take one last walk to Hill's Wood before she gave in.

XX

Arnold had shared his story with the other villagers, but there was still work to be done, and they had been toiling under the hot sun for the rest of the morning. It was time to take a break. The peasants who were farming clods in the field gathered around the ox cart, already half-filled with clods, and tried to get a little shade as they passed a gourd of water between them.

"Man, I know my lady advice is good, but I didn't think it'd be _that_ good," said Gerald. "Sounds like Cecile was all over you!"

He knew that his friend was feeling a little down. It was surprising since Arnold was normally such an optimist. Despite how fun the castle festival sounded, Gerald got the impression that Cecile's abrupt departure, followed by Arnold getting kicked out of the castle by Lady Rhonda, was probably making it hard for him to accept that it was all over.

"Maybe she was, I don't know," said Arnold as he took a sip of water. "Either way, she's gone now. All I have left of her is this dandelion." He pulled the flower from the crook of his ear, where he had placed it after taking it from his surcoat that morning before he dressed in peasant clothing again.

Lila took Arnold's hand and gave it a squeeze. "I think it's a very romantic tale," she said. "And I'm sure that, one day, you'll find a wonderful girl who not only likes you, but likes you doubly! Likes you as if she were two girls put into one! As if it was Cecile, but also some other girl just like her, put together!"

"I got no idea what in the sam hill you're talkin' about," said Stinky.

"The point is, Arnold, turn that frown upside down!"

Arnold's frown, however, had just found a new reason to stick around for a while longer. A lone figure was crossing the clod field, clad in familiar bright pink garb. Helga was not borrowing her best friend's horse this time, and Gerald gulped as he saw her approach. He knew Arnold probably didn't want to deal with her at the moment.

"Hey peasants, what's happening?"

Arnold got up and dusted himself off.

"We're working in the fields, Helga. It's what we have to do during the day to make a living."

"Except when you're hanging out in castles," Helga replied with a smirk.

"I didn't see you there last night."

Helga coughed nervously. "Yeah well, I was busy."

"I saw your cousin, though."

"Oh? Who, Cecile?"

Arnold nodded.

"And how was she?"

"She was very interesting. Very well-mannered. We had a lot of fun together, too. We ran around the castle and went up to one of the tower rooftops and looked at the stars and talked about our lives and it was very romantic and emotional."

Helga felt herself grow a little woozy as she recalled the events that Arnold described, and Lila clasped her hands together joyfully, while Gerald and Stinky grimaced a little at their friend's increasing mushiness.

"Well good for you, bow head. I'm glad you had fun. What was so interesting about her anyway? Just because she was polite and looked nice?"

Arnold wondered why Helga had mentioned her cousin's appearance, considering that Arnold had not mentioned it himself, but it was true that he found Cecile attractive. Not in a completely dissimilar way from Helga's attractiveness. The two of them did look similar, at least on the surface.

"Well, yes, she was attractive, and being polite is a good thing, Helga. She was nice to me, she treated me like an equal even though I'm a peasant, and we could talk about things without being standoffish all the time. It was pleasant to be around her."

Helga stood awkwardly as the peasants stared at her, huddled in the shade of the ox cart. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting when she left her home to come to Hill's Wood – mainly, she just wanted to see Arnold again before she ended up stuck in that monastery for the rest of her life – but things were not going the way she had expected. Arnold seemed like he was in a foul mood, and Helga had started the conversation off in her usual prickly manner. She could have used the opportunity to let Arnold know how she felt, but she knew she was too chicken for that. And now, what had been a vaguely romantic farewell in her mind was turning into a terrible, awkward mess.

"Well, don't get too attached, _Arnoldo_," she said. "It's not like you're going to be invited back to that castle anyway. Cecile might as well not even be real."

"You think I don't know that?"

Arnold had raised his voice when he asked the question. Helga almost never heard him raise his voice.

"I knew I had no chance with Cecile, okay? Maybe she looked kind of like you, but other than that, she was pretty much your opposite. I don't know why you come around here in the first place, Helga – it seems like all you do is bother us and insult us. Why can't you just leave us alone?"

Arnold regretted the comment as soon as he had said it, but it was out. Then again, while it was blunt, Arnold felt he had reason to be angry. He didn't know what Helga was expecting when she came to Hill's Wood the day after the castle festival only to bother him and rub in the fact that he would never get out of his little hamlet again.

"Alright, fine."

"What?"

"I said fine!" snapped Helga. "Your wish is already granted, Arnold! My dad is putting me in a monastery because he doesn't know what else to do with me, and I'm going to praying in some room for the rest of my life instead of coming out here and bothering you guys. So don't worry, you won't have to see me anymore. You're welcome!"

Arnold and his fellow villagers were at a loss for words as Helga stormed off in the direction she had come.

XX

The atmosphere in the castle was stifling, and Rhonda was still a bit annoyed at the sight of Curly. Instead of staying inside she was taking a walk around the castle courtyard. Her usual ladies in waiting were missing, probably because they had all fled at the sight of her outburst earlier that morning, not wanting to attract her anger on themselves. There was something annoying about how they had such a firm grasp of Rhonda's personality; they knew she would probably calm down and forget about things in a few hours.

But in this case, Rhonda knew she would not forget. That conversation between Arnold and her husband had brought unpleasant memories bubbling up to her mind's surface. Memories that needled her sometimes even when she didn't have that bow-headed peasant in sight.

She remembered how the Shortman family had been treated, how Arnold's grandparents had been stripped of their property and noble titles after Arnold's parents left to go help people suffering from the great sickness in the south. Rhonda had loved her parents when they were alive, but she also knew that the Lloyds could be merciless, even compared to her. They certainly hadn't approved of her husband's strange behavior and lower status.

Rhonda tried to shake dark thoughts from her mind, wanting to enjoy the fresh air, but the walk was already proving to be fruitless. Where was her favorite lady in waiting, anyway? Lady of a castle and she had to take a walk without anyone to attend to her – it was ridiculous.

"Nadine! Nadine, where are you!"

"Over here, milady!"

Rhonda turned a corner and found Nadine crouched over in some shrubbery near one of the castle walls. Rhonda groaned. She enjoyed Nadine's company, but she had never understood the girl's obsession with bug hunting. It seemed like anytime Nadine was not busy tending to Rhonda's needs, she was out catching some hideous beetle.

"Lady Rhonda, look at this caterpillar I found!"

"Eww, gross! Get it out of my face, Nadine!"

Nadine withdrew her extended hands, looking a little downtrodden as she let the caterpillar crawl from her palms onto a broad leaf. Rhonda's expression softened at the sight of her lady in waiting looking so disappointed. She must really like whatever that freakish thing is, Rhonda thought.

"But it's very nice. Very, uh, yellow," she said as she peered at the creature distastefully.

"I didn't mean to leave you unattended, milady. Is there anything you need?"

Nadine got up from her spot in the shrubbery and began to walk alongside Lady Rhonda as the two of them continued on their circuit around the inner castle walls.

"I suppose not."

Rhonda was being honest; she didn't need anything. Although she felt like she wanted to talk, she wasn't sure what she wanted to say to Nadine. All she knew was that annoying peasant would not get out of her head, and she was beginning to feel remorse over kicking him out of the castle. Oh, the pangs of a guilty conscience!

"Nadine," she said haltingly, "do you – do you think I'm a good person?"

"Of course, milady."

"Forget I'm Lady Rhonda for a minute, Nadine. Just think of me as Rhonda. I know, I know, it's hard to imagine, but pretend I'm just some lowly retainer like yourself. I just want your honest opinion – we _are_ friends, aren't we?"

Nadine nodded. As much of a pain as Rhonda could be sometimes, she supposed they were friends, and Rhonda _did_ seem to open up to her more than anyone else. Rhonda was in a position of social power over her, but Nadine supposed that was just the way life worked.

"So what do you think?"

"I think you're a good person at heart," said Nadine, "but you can be harsh sometimes, like if you're in a bad mood and someone is lower in stature than you are. Is this about that peasant that you invited to the festival, Arnold?"

"Yes – how did you know?"

"I just guessed. It was hard to miss the way you yelled at him earlier in the Great Hall."

Rhonda felt another pang of guilt.

"I just think that everything has its place, Nadine – we're all born into our places in life, and we have to accept who we are and act accordingly."

"Even if that's true, wouldn't that mean Arnold was wronged? He was born into a certain place in life and then had it taken away from him when he was forced to grow up as a peasant. So where is he supposed to be? It looked like he was getting along pretty well with Cecile last night, and she certainly came from a different world than Arnold, which suggests that maybe it doesn't matter where Arnold comes from – it just matters who he is."

Nadine knew her reply was on the bold side, but when Lady Rhonda approached her in a more conversational mood, she usually felt safe enough to press her luck a little bit.

"I guess. Maybe you have a point."

Rhonda was surprised that Nadine seemed to know so much about the circumstances surrounding Arnold's noble birth and the expulsion of his family into a life of peasanthood. She had thought of it as an embarrassing episode in her family's past that dug away at her conscience sometimes, but apparently it was common knowledge in her court.

"Isn't Lord Thaddeus of lower birth than you, as well?" said Nadine. "If you don't mind me asking, that is. I thought the Gammelthorpe family was not quite as illustrious as the Lloyd family."

"Yes, that's true. I knew Curly for a long time. He lived here in the castle as a retainer under my parents. He liked me before I liked him back, and he'd always be running after me and sniffing my hair, weird things like that. Once he calmed down, though, he did have a certain charm."

Rhonda's sighed wistfully and looked up into the sky, reminiscing about her past, and Nadine held back a grin. She had always thought her Lord and Lady made a bit of a strange couple.

"So why did you marry him if you put so much value on people's social stature?"

Rhonda could only think of one word in response to Nadine's question:

Love.

She began to understand the hypocrisy in her attitude that Nadine was trying to point out, and Rhonda knew that it ultimately came from her parents. Even now that they were gone, it was hard to escape the long shadow they threw over her.

Rhonda and Curly had gotten married shortly before the incident with the Shortmans happened. Her parents did not like him very much, since he was almost as strange as Arnold's grandparents. It took all her efforts, all her charm, to convince her parents that Curly was an upstanding noble – which he was, even if his family as not as prestigious as the Lloyds, but they were still skeptical. Rhonda had managed to convince her parents to let her marry Curly as a way for them to strengthen their ties to the Gammelthorpe family, and even though there were better options for her marriage, her parents had given in. Still, she knew that Curly was never very popular with them.

Rhonda had been raised by her parents to disdain people of lower stature than her, to always value her noble birth and privileges, and while being around the Shortmans and her husband had softened her views, something about seeing the Shortman family's fortunes fall so rapidly made Rhonda turn back to her parents' way of thinking. She was frightened by what had happened to the Shortmans. She did not want anything like that to happen to her.

There was not much Rhonda could do about it when it happened; Curly's attempts to get her parents to be lenient were met with anger, and when Rhonda tried to say something, a few well-placed threats about the nearby monastery convinced her to keep quiet. Rhonda had lived for several years after the incident in fear that her parents would force Curly to divorce her, casting him into a life of poverty while they made her marry a new husband. Maybe a husband she hated. Maybe one who would not be as accepting of her domineering personality as Curly tended to be.

"Do you think a person can be blamed for the actions of their parents, Nadine?"

"No, of course not. Not unless you help them or condone them, I guess."

Rhonda didn't know if she helped her parents in their decision. She certainly didn't object – her parents had always been a strong influence on Rhonda, and it was rare that she went against their wishes. The most she had ever dared to oppose them was in her marriage to Curly.

Even before they were married, Rhonda remembered all the time her husband spent with Arnold's grandparents. Listening to Phil's tales of adventure, witchcraft, and monster-slaying. Embroidering, knitting, making new outfits and practicing dance moves with Gertrude – Curly had some strange interests. Of course, Rhonda vaguely remembered spending time with Arnold's grandparents herself when she was a child, even if she never grew close to them in the same way that Curly did.

Arnold's parents had been a little older than Rhonda and Curly. As Rhonda walked with Nadine and thought about the Shortmans, she got the feeling that Phil and Gertrude felt a little left behind as their children grew more adventuresome and restless, which meant that Curly got a lot of their attention whenever they visited the castle, which was quite often. Although Arnold's parents were always out getting into trouble, Rhonda got to know them as well, and she was even fond of playing with baby Arnold when he was born.

She was fond of all the generations of the Shortman family, and it had been a shock when Arnold's parents had disappeared to the south. They did not get along well with her parents, but she didn't know things were that bad. It was even more a shock when she had seen Arnold's grandparents kicked out of the castle, forced to life a life of clod farming and hard labor, raising Arnold with them.

Her parents died several years after the fall of the Shortman family, passing the ownership of the Lloyd castle into Rhonda and Curly's hands. On the rare occasion that Rhonda ventured out of the castle and saw Arnold's family in Hill's Wood, she was reminded of the whole unpleasant episode.

Living through those years had made her think that the way Arnold's parents and grandparents acted, the way her husband sometimes acted, would lead to tragedy. She tried to convince herself that everyone deserved what they got in life, that things were supposed to be the way they were, that she was Lady Rhonda Wellington Lloyd and that Arnold and his grandparents were peasant clod farmers. And it had almost worked.

Until she listened to Arnold that morning, asking her husband about his family's past.

"Well," she asked Nadine, "what can I do to make things right?"

XX

The double wooden doors of the monastery opened up like a yawning mouth that longed to swallow her whole. Remorseless stained-glass eyes watched her as she stood beneath their gaze. Form the dark depths of the mouth, Abbess Slovak stepped forward and greeted Portly Bob. Helga stood by their side and awaited her fate.

"She's ready," said Bob.

Abbess Slovak looked down at Helga with a sort of distorted motherly look. As if she was waiting to chain her wayward daughter to a dungeon wall, as lovingly as possible.

"Don't worry, we'll take good care of her."

Helga did not bother saying goodbye to her father as he nudged her in Abbess Slovak's direction, and she did not turn back as he began to walk back to his home. Abbess Slovak ushered her into the monastery as Helga's eyes got used to the dim interior.

"I think you'll learn to fit in here over time," said the Abbess. "You'll learn to find your place here, as long as you give up some of those rough edges. The first thing we can start with is that ridiculous pink kirtle you're wearing. How would you like a nice nun's habit?"

Helga made a vague gesture of indifference. They walked past other nuns, kneeling piously on the stone floor of the nave, facing the altar at the end of the room. Most of them remained still as Helga passed with the Abbess, but she noticed one of them, who was freakishly tall compared to the others, give her an encouraging nod as they passed out of the Abbess's field of vision.

"You'll have to take your vows," said the Abbess, "and there will be some training before you can become a full-fledged nun. We'll have you doing hard labor for a while, but if you dedicate yourself to the Lord's work, eventually you might even be able to copy holy texts in the scriptorium. Or maybe perform a little bloodletting on the passing travelers we get here sometimes!"

Helga shuddered at the thought. If she was lucky, maybe they would let her work in the garden, even though there would be no flowers to enjoy. Still, as she looked at the forbidding stone that surrounded her, Helga knew that she would not last long before this place crushed her spirit.

XX

A hard day's work was finished, and the ox cart was brimming with dirt clods waiting to be taken back to the village barn.

Arnold looked over the field in front of him and gave Gerald a slap on the back. The field had been emptied of its last dirt clod stragglers, and the harvest was now complete. Sooner or later, the castle servants would come in their carts to take the peasant's hard work and do whatever it was they did with dirt clods at the castle. Then it would be time for Arnold and his fellow peasants to kick back a little before preparing for the onset of winter.

"Nice job, Gerald."

"Hey, you too man."

Arnold threw his hoe onto the back of the ox cart as his friends piled into the front, but when Gerald extended a hand to help him up, Arnold did not return it.

"Actually Gerald, I think I'm going to go pay a visit to someone."

"Really? You'd have to make it fast, it's getting a little late."

Gerald had a strange suspicion that he knew the answer even before he asked the question, but he asked anyway. "Who are you visiting?"

"Helga."

Sometimes it was hard being right all the time.

"Aw, come on man, why are you visiting her? Maybe that was a little rough when she came over here earlier, but she was asking for it."

"I just feel weird, Gerald. She seemed pretty upset. I thought maybe I'd go see if she's okay."

"She's just gonna give you a hard time again."

"Maybe, but I'm still going."

Arnold waved goodbye to Gerald, Stinky, and Lila as the ox cart drove away, and he turned to make his way towards the town surrounding the castle. As much as Helga could get on his nerves, she had never mentioned going to a monastery before, and he felt guilty about his last words to her. Once Arnold decided that he needed to make something right, it was difficult for anyone to change his mind. Even Gerald.

He trudged through the emptied clod field, slowly making his way towards the castle and town rooftops in the distance, and wondered if maybe he could convince her parents that Helga didn't want to be a nun. He had listened to Helga complaining about her father on many occasions – and, to a lesser extent, her mother – but they couldn't be as bad as she claimed, could they?

Not only did Arnold want to visit Helga, but he had half a mind to go to the castle as well. He had been mulling over the way Lady Rhonda had treated him all day, and he knew that he would be taking a risk in returning, but he wanted to know more about his family, about his parents. How could he just leave things the way they were, content with what little tantalizing knowledge he had been given by Lord Thaddeus? Maybe Arnold was a peasant, but if his family had been wronged, he deserved something more than the way he had been treated. Lord Thaddeus had seemed reasonable; maybe Arnold could appeal to him.

But first things first. Arnold wanted to deal with Helga's predicament.

XX

It wasn't long before he got to the town, although he realized upon his arrival that he didn't know where Helga actually lived – he had only seen her when she was visiting Hill's Wood. He asked a few passing townspeople where Helga the merchant's daughter lived, and although most of them looked at his dirtied peasant clothing in disgust, one of them finally pointed in the right direction.

Arnold knocked on the back door, and it was not hard to identity the bulky man who answered his knock as Helga's father. He matched his daughter's ranting descriptions, and he also shared her unibrow.

"Yeah, what is it? Who are you?"

"I was wondering if Helga was here."

"No, she's not. We put her in a monastery just a few hours ago. What do you want with her, anyway?"

"Well, actually I was hoping I could talk to you too. I'm a peasant from the village of Hill's Wood, a few miles out that way," - he pointed towards the distant forest tree line - "and Helga stops by sometimes. She mentioned something about a monastery, and I don't mean to intrude, but I just thought she would be very unhappy being a nun."

"Well that's too bad, because she already made her choice. You can ask her why she chose to be a nun when she had the opportunity to be a wealthy man's wife, but I doubt Abbess Slovak would admit any male visitors."

Portly Bob looked down at Arnold as if he was considering whether or not to step on him like a bug. Finally, he stepped aside and reluctantly let the peasant step into his home.

"Wait a minute, you said Helga visits you in Hill's Wood?"

"Yeah."

"Are you Arnie's cousin?"

"That's right. My name is Arnold."

"So _you're_ the one Helga's in love with?"

Arnold stared at Bob in confusion.

"Um, I don't think so. She definitely doesn't think of me that way."

"Well, she said that's why she turned down Arnie's marriage proposal. Which means you've got some explaining to do. Where do you get off getting involved with my daughter? You're just some clod farmer!"

"I'm not involved with your daughter! Look, I don't know what you're talking about here, I just came over to ask you to reconsider the whole monastery thing. I just think Helga's sort of a free spirit. She's not the type to want to spend her life in a convent, you know?"

"Well that's for me to decide!" Bob shouted.

He began to regret letting the peasant into his house in the first place; the very idea of a peasant telling an important merchant like himself what to do was ridiculous.

"What I do with my daughter is none of your business. Now get out of my house!"

Arnold was about to protest, but Bob looked increasingly irate, and he decided that the best course of action was probably to take his leave. Maybe Helga had not been exaggerating – in the space of a few moments, her father's attitude had gone from surly to incomprehensible to downright angry. Bob opened the door again and pointed Arnold out, slamming it as soon as his visitor left.

Arnold wondered if he had visited Helga's family too early. Maybe he had just made things worse.

As he thought about Helga's predicament, he found himself standing in a garden outside of the Pataki home. There were a number of fruits and vegetables growing in the garden, but Arnold was most interested in a section that seemed to be devoted to flowers. Petals of red, violet, orange, and white fluttered in the breeze, although all of them were bleached with a sort of orange tint by the afternoon sun rapidly descending in the sky.

Arnold wondered who the garden belonged to; Helga had always said that her mother was near-catatonic, and her sister had long since left. From what little he had seen, Arnold could not imagine Helga's father having the patience and gentle touch to tend a garden. It didn't seem like work that Portly Bob would see as befitting his stature, anyway. Could it be Helga's garden?

Arnold stooped down and smelled some of the flowers. There was a possibility that Helga's father might hear him still loitering outside and get even angrier, but he couldn't resist looking around a little, and he was feeling a bit impudent.

And what had Portly Bob meant about Helga being in love with him? The very thought was ridiculous, although Arnold knew that Helga tolerated him more than she let on, especially after he had gotten that gravestone for his grandparents from her. Maybe Helga had used him as a last minute excuse to decline his cousin's marriage proposal. Arnie must have left the castle almost as soon as Arnold had told him where Cecile's cousin lived, Arnold thought. And then he arrived here, and proposed...

Arnold stopped with a frown as the conversation he had just had with Portly Bob rasped across his mind like a file. Something was not fitting together.

During the castle festival, Arnie seemed to have an interest in Cecile, and when he came to Helga's house to ask where her cousin lived, he ended up proposing to Helga instead? As Arnold pored over the thought, feeling like he was missing something incredibly obvious, he found himself staring at one particular flower – or maybe it was a weed, he couldn't remember – growing in a small group in the center of the flower patch.

Dandelions.

He looked at them with interest. He felt the single dandelion that he had plucked from Cecile's hat the other night, still tucked over his ear. He took it and turned it between his fingers. It couldn't be.

Helga?

His mind fought against it, but he remembered Helga approaching him across the dirt clod field that morning. Her unibrow had been shaved. Helga never shaved her unibrow. Arnold felt a strange thrill as the events of the castle festival suddenly took on a very different meaning in his mind. What kind of a thrill it was, Arnold was not exactly sure. Helga, Cecile – how could it be? He stared at the dandelions and began to feel overwhelmed by the strange turn of events.

"Women," he muttered.

Or just one woman, to be perfectly fair.

Arnold knew he had to talk to her. But she was in the monastery, and Bob had said he might not be allowed to see her at all. He looked up at the darkening stone walls and parapets that towered over the town on the top of the nearby sloping hill. The castle. It was getting dark, and Arnold knew that he would have to return to Hill's Wood for the night, but tomorrow he would return. Maybe if he visited the castle, he could take care of everything at once.


	7. Breaks and Books

**Breaks and Books**

XX

Close by the old shack in the forest, a flat slab of stone sat beside a pine tree. The stone curved downwards, but it was smooth and positioned in such a way that the sun beat down on it in the morning and heated it up. It was almost as if it was built specifically for sitting. It was certainly Arnold's favorite place to sit. Occasionally he felt guilty about chasing a sunbathing lizard away so he could take his spot. But then, if he sat very still, sometimes they came back and joined him again.

Arnold liked to sit on the slab of stone when he had some free time and think about things. Life, his friends. His grandparents. Sometimes he would daydream about his parents going on fantastic adventures with him. But sometimes he would just enjoy his surroundings, listen to the pigeons which cooed in the trees around him, and wonder who had once lived in the shack. He knew, based on past conversations, that Gerald has some of his own ideas about who lived in the shack. Maybe Gerald was right, and it really _had_ belonged to a Pigeon Man.

On this particular morning, Arnold had a lot on his mind. Above him, a light breeze wove its way through the trees, occasionally gusting strongly enough to stretch down to his stone seat and touch him. He idly gazed up as sunlight broke up flickering splotches of leafy shape and color. Normally he would be enraptured with his beautiful surroundings, but Arnold happened to be distracted enough by his thoughts that he could have been sitting in a pigsty without knowing the difference.

Cecile, Helga. Helga, Cecile. It was a lot to wrap his head around. How could it be possible that two people could rouse such different feelings in him, and then turn out to be the same person? More importantly, how the heck had he missed that? _It had to have been the veil_, he reassured himself. _Or the dim torchlight in the castle. I mean, how could anybody tell who was who at that festival?_

Arnold heard some leaves crunching nearby and turned to see Friar Simmons approaching from the edge of the forest. Beyond him, the village was close enough that Arnold could see the tops of buildings through the tree branches. He went to the shack when he got the chance so he could enjoy some time alone, but Friar Simmons was a welcome visitor.

"Hello, Friar Simmons."

"Hello Arnold. I notice you like being alone by the shack here in the forest sometimes. You're braver than some of the other villagers, with all the stories they tell about the forest. Even Ernie complains when he has to go cut trees."

Arnold laughed. "I guess it just feels peaceful out here to me. Even at night, I wouldn't say it's very threatening."

"Tell me, Arnold – what are you doing out here today?"

"Just thinking a little."

Friar Simmons nodded and tilted his head towards the rock on which Arnold was sitting, silently asking if he could sit as well. The rock was big enough for the two of them, and Arnold scooted aside to make some room as Friar Simmons shifted his cloak a little and took a seat.

"Thinking? About what, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Well – you know Helga, right?"

"I certainly do," said Friar Simmons. He had noticed how often the merchant's daughter from the town near the castle came to visit Hill's Wood. More particularly, he had noticed how much attention she gave Arnold. She was a special girl, Friar Simmons believed. With a very special way of expressing herself, which sometimes happened to annoy the other villagers to no end.

"I thought she never showed up to the castle festival, but I found out yesterday that apparently she was there in disguise. I even hung out with her for most of the night and didn't realize it. I wonder why she would do something like that? Was she trying to fool me?"

Friar Simmons pondered the information.

"The only way to know for sure would be to ask her."

"Yeah," agreed Arnold. It was the answer he had been expecting, and he knew it himself, but the thought of trying to clear things up with her after their fight, and his realization of what had happened at the festival, as a little daunting.

"She's in a monastery now though," he said. "Her father sent her there. It's this whole big thing. I was thinking of visiting the castle and trying to sort things out – I have some other things to take care of with Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus anyway."

The two of them sat in silence for a moment as Arnold thought about the Helga he had known for so many years. The Helga who could be okay sometimes, but often seemed to come to the village just to give him a hard time.

"Did you ever get the feeling that Helga was interested in me, Friar Simmons?"

"Oh yes. I don't know how you didn't notice it yourself, Arnold."

The two of them looked back at the sound of more twigs and leaves being crunched underfoot. This time, Arnold's cousin Arnie was arriving from the village. Arnold wondered if maybe his spot by the shack was a little less secluded than he had thought. Either that or this was just his day for visitors. He was not quite as fine with his private time being interrupted by Arnie as he had been with the arrival of Friar Simmons.

"Hello Arnie."

"It's good to see you again, cousin," droned Arnie. "I wanted to come and talk to you about some things."

"Oh yeah? What about?"

"Helga."

Arnold repressed a groan as Friar Simmons looked at him with a mixture of interest and sympathy. Apparently, Simmons could already see that Arnold's cousin was on the strange side, and that the two of them were not very close. Arnold knew that his cousin had been rejected by Helga, and he got the feeling that things were about to get even more awkward than they would have been otherwise.

"I wanted to give you my blessing with Helga. You will be very happy with her."

That wasn't quite what Arnold had been expecting to hear.

"Uh, well, I don't know if I even – what do you mean? I thought you liked her? Or at least, I thought you liked Cecile?"

Arnie frowned. After a moment, he took a step towards the rock and motioned that he wanted to take a seat. Friar Simmons moved aside, and Arnie sat between the two of them. The rock definitely did not have enough space for three people, but Arnold was too timid to object, and Arnie had already gotten comfortable. Arnold had to be content with hanging half off the rock as the three of them sat together, one leg propping his body up to prevent him from falling onto the ground,.

"You told me that Cecile's cousin lived in town, and I went to Helga's house to ask her parents for her hand in marriage. That was when I realized they were the same person. I have to admit that I was a little hasty because I had seen the way you and Cecile were enjoying the festival together, and I thought you might be in competition with me. After Helga rejected my offer, I knew it was true – she likes you. The two of you are meant for each other.

"And besides," Arnie continued before Arnold could object that he had never even thought about Helga that way, "I was wealthy even before I went to the war in the east, but now that I have returned, my wealth knows no limits. I have been very lucky in life, and it would be wrong of me to try to take what little happiness you might achieve as a lowly peasant with Helga by your side."

Arnold took in what his cousin had said, not sure if he should thank him for what he supposed was meant as a gracious gesture. Arnie got up after a moment and looked back in the direction of Hill's Wood, and beyond it, the castle.

"I have to take my leave now. I do not want to overstay my welcome at the castle with Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus, as much as they insist that they love my presence, and I must return to my lands. Lulu and Rhoda and the other nobles from my land will worry if I am absent for too long. I wanted to say goodbye to you and wish you luck before I left."

"Thanks Arnie. And thanks for telling me what you knew about my family earlier."

"It was my pleasure. _Gnnk._ We will meet again soon, I hope."

Arnold gave his cousin a genuine nod – as unsettling as Arnie was, he was still family.

"Until next time."

Friar Simmons continued to sit on the rock for a few more moments, listening to the chirps of birds and rustle of leaves with a pleasant smile on his face, until he decided that it might be a good idea to follow Arnie's example. "I guess you came out here for a little alone time," he said to his companion. "I hope you get things figured out. I have faith in you, Arnold!"

"Thanks, Friar Simmons."

Arnold was left to himself again after Friar Simmons left, with only the forest for company. Friar Simmons' advice had been right – Arnold definitely needed to talk to Helga about things. But first things first. He needed to go back to the castle and find some answers.

Arnold enjoyed his surroundings for a few more moments before he got to leave. If he strained, he could hear the occasional faint shout or word of conversation coming from the nearby village. As he sat, a lone pigeon flew down from a nearby tree and perched on the edge of Arnold's rock slab seat. He watched it, keeping still so as not to scare it away, and the bird blinked at him a few times before greeting him with a short _coo! _

Arnold looked up at the tree tops surrounding him. Although he was alone beside the shack, sometimes he got the feeling that he was not so alone.

"So you agree with Friar Simmons, huh pigeon?"

_Coo!_

Arnold laughed, and the pigeon flew back into the trees, although it did not seem frightened by him.

"Alright, alright. I'm going."

XX

Helga felt the sheets ripped away as cold air rushed over her exposed body. A single candle illuminated the darkness of her dormitory room. It was held by Abbess Slovak. The Abbess stood at a small wooden table beside Helga's bed and lit the candle there with her own.

"Time to get up!" she announced. "Welcome to your first day in the order, sister. Say your morning prayers and get ready for breakfast in the refectory."

Abbess Slovak left Helga alone in her room as she groaned and looked up at the flickering shadows over the stone ceiling. She managed to roll herself out of bed, falling with a somewhat painful plop on the cold floor, and got into the habit the sisters had given her when she took her vows the other day. She was not looking forward to her first day in the monastery. From what little she had heard from her fellow sisters, she would be doing a lot of sweeping, dusting, butter-churning, weed-pulling, and other menial tasks for the rest of the day as a new member of the order. But that was alright, Helga thought. This would not be permanent.

She looked furtively at the entrance to her room, and after making sure that Abbess Slovak had left, she pulled an oddly-shaped rock from her habit. The rock was the one thing she had managed to keep with her upon entering the monastery. She caressed it lovingly with the palm of her hand, knowing that if she had to be stuck here for any length of time, the stone would be her one source of comfort aside from her imagination.

"Oh Arnold," she whispered to the rock, "give me the strength to make it through this terrible ordeal, and soon I will be free to enjoy your wonderful presence once more! They think they can hold me here, but the love I hold for you can never be restrained!"

Helga frowned as her fervent monologue was brought down to earth by the memory of her last content with Arnold. They hadn't exactly parted on good terms – who knows what would happen if she did get out. She was beginning to form an idea of what she might do, but as much as her romantic side hated to admit to it, there was no telling if Arnold would play any role.

"What's going on in there?" asked a tall, squeaky-voiced nun who poked her head into the door.

Helga recognized the nun as one of the praying girls who had given her an encouraging nod the other day when she was first checking the monastery out with her father. The girl's voice was almost comically high, and something about it struck Helga as bizarre – almost as if it were a high-pitched version of her own voice.

"Uh, nothing's going on in here, nope!"

"You're going to be late to the breakfast."

"I'm coming, hold your horses!"

Helga stowed the rock back in her habit. The tall girl had obviously seen it, but fortunately she made no comment about it. They began to walk together down the dormitory hallway on their way to the dining room.

"What's your name?" Helga asked the other sister.

"Sheena."

"Well, nice to meet you."

"We're all happy to have a new sister in the order," said Sheena. "Although I heard that you didn't really join voluntarily?"

Helga shook her head. "Nope. Dad threw me in here as punishment for being too cheeky."

"That's just terrible! Well, I know this must seem horrible to you then, but it does get better eventually. It can be sort of fun as long as Abbess Slovak doesn't catch you talking too much."

"I hate to break it to you sister, but I won't be here for very long."

"No?"

"That's right. I already got an escape plan in mind."

Sheena pursed her lips in confusion. "Well, if all you want to do is escape, you could probably just run to the front door and open it."

"Well, yeah. That was my escape plan, actually."

"Oh."

Helga wondered if she could get in trouble for talking to Sheena about leaving the monastery, but even if she had just met the girl, something about her seemed trustworthy. She had a sort of friendly but timid countenance, and Helga knew that if Sheena told the Abbess about her plans, she would just end up running for the door anyway. It wasn't really leaving the monastery that had been on Helga's mind, anyway – it was what she was going to do afterwards. Going back to her family was no longer an option, but Helga had something else in mind.

First, however, a little breakfast couldn't hurt.

She entered the refectory with Sheena and the two of them took a pair of empty seats in the middle of one of the long oaken dining tables. The tables were already mostly filled with a number of sisters waiting for the morning prayers before they could eat their meals. Helga did not have to wait long before Abbess Slovak appeared at the head of the room and led the prayer. She got in a few discreet bites of her gruel before the prayer was finished, and once Abbess Slovak mouthed the final 'amen', Helga dug in.

"What are you going to do when you leave the monastery?" whispered Sheena in between spoonfuls of gruel.

"Pay a visit to the Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus's castle, maybe grab a few gold pieces, and then I don't know. Go somewhere else, far away from here."

Sheena thought about Helga's vague plan with a certain admiration. She didn't mind life in the monastery – it fit her quiet personality fairly well – but she admired someone who was so willing to throw away anything solid in her life to face the unknown. Helga sounded like quite the risk-taker. But then, maybe Helga no longer had a choice.

"What was that rock you had in your habit?"

Helga paused for a moment. Her secret love for Arnold was not exactly the kind of thing she shared openly – Phoebe was really the only person who knew about it – but then, Helga was feeling strangely adventurous. It was as if she had nothing left to lose. And it wasn't like she would be seeing Sheena again after today, anyway. She glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention to their whispers, making note of Abbess Slovak's position at the end of the tables, and gingerly edged the rock out of her undergarments to give Sheena a glance.

"It's a rock in the shape of the head of this peasant who lives in the hamlet of Hill's Wood. I'm madly in love with him."

Sheena stared at the object. It looked like a rock to her.

"Does he know you love him?"

"No."

"Why don't you tell him?"

Helga stammered a little, not sure how to answer such a direction question.

"It's, uh – it's complicated," she explained.

"Hmm."

Sheena felt a sense of adventure by proxy rising up within herself. She had no plans to leave the monastery, but something about this new sister was very exciting. The love story, the planned adventure to distant lands; stealing from Lady Rhonda; the flippant, sarcastic voice that sounded surprisingly like a lower-pitched version of her own voice - all of it had piqued Sheena's interest. She wanted to help her new sister out.

"You know the river out in the forest, beyond that hamlet you mentioned?"

"Yeah."

"I have this uncle who's a boat captain. He lives in the middle of the river, in a little house on Elk Island. He makes a lot of money ferrying people across the river – I'm sure you could hide with him for a while if you needed any help."

"Good to know."

Helga ate her gruel, noticing Abbess Slovak passing by and giving the two of them a stern look. Apparently she had noticed they were whispering to each other. After the Abbess passed by, Helga leaned in towards her new acquaintance and spoke quietly.

"What about you? You wanna make a run for it with me?"

"Oh, I'm afraid not," whispered Sheena. "I'm not nearly as adventurous as you are. And really it's not bad to live here if you have the right temperament. You get all the food you need, you're safe, you don't have to marry some ugly guy you don't like. Abbess Slovak is a little mean, but she's very old – she'll die before long!"

Helga almost choked on a mouthful of gruel upon hearing the way Sheena threw out her last comment in such a bright and cheery manner. She was liking this sister already. She almost regretted that she would be leaving so soon. But, as she watched Abbess Slovak passing around to the other side of the room, Helga thought it was just about time to make a break for it. Her breakfast was finished, and there was no point in stalling.

"It was nice meeting you Sheena," she said. "Thanks for the kind words."

"You too, Helga! I hope things work out for you. You should tell Arnold how you feel."

Helga snorted. "We'll see."

Sheena watched as Helga got up from her table, belched loudly, and made a sudden break for the refectory doorway. Abbess Slovak shouted out at the fleeing figure, but it was only moments before Sheena heard the front entrance of the monastery being opened. She returned to her gruel with a faint smile. As far as days in the monastery went, this was already an interesting one.

XX

Arnold stopped in the shadow of the gatehouse, looking up at the guard towers on each side of the castle gates. A guard glanced down at him, the tip of his helmet protruding out from above. For all Arnold knew, the guards had been ordered to keep any bow-headed visitors out of the castle.

"I'm here to see Lord Thaddeus and Lady Rhonda."

"Yeah, whatever."

Apparently, his worries were unfounded.

The gates opened and Arnold passed through the castle courtyard to the doors of the Great Hall. He steeled himself for the approaching encounter with Lady Rhonda- even if Lord Thaddeus answered the door first, he would have to speak to Rhonda eventually.

Perhaps he would be torn from limb from limb. Perhaps he would be thrown into the dungeon, doomed to be manacled to a damp wall with Torvald the chicken stealer for the rest of his life. Of course, now that the image had come to mind, he was having trouble deciding if it would be better or worse than clod farming. Hopefully he wouldn't have to find out. Arnold raised his fist to knock on the doors.

"You again?"

Lady Rhonda opened the doors before Arnold had even knocked.

"What is it you want?"

It was almost as if Lady Rhonda had been waiting at the door for him. Arnold was at a loss for words.

"You're here to learn about your family or something, because it was wrong of me to kick you out when you have a right to know? Oh my God, _fine_, just give me a break! Come in, come in, follow me."

Rhonda left the doors open and walked back into the Great Hall for a moment before realizing that Arnold was still standing out in the courtyard in confusion. She looked back and waved her hand impatiently.

"Come with me, peasant!"

XX

The time was fast approaching to infiltrate the castle and take what was rightfully hers. Well, not exactly rightfully hers, but what did castles need treasure rooms for anyway? If the treasure was just stored in a room, how important could it be? That was reason enough for Helga to help herself to a little of it. Before she did, however, she had to say goodbye to her best friend.

Phoebe answered Helga's knock on the door, her parents being away in town.

"Helga! What are you doing out of the monastery?"

"Uh, I kinda broke out. Can we go inside before somebody sees me?"

The two of them went into Phoebe's room, and before Phoebe could say anything, Helga pulled her into an embrace that left her short of breath. Phoebe had wanted to hug Helga when she saw her at the door, but seeing Helga had taken her by surprise – when she had heard the news that Helga had been put into the monastery, she had wondered if she would even be able to visit her best friend.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Phoebe, I just came to say goodbye. I'm going to try to sneak into the castle and steal some gold or treasure or something before I leave. I saw a treasure room when I was running around in there with Arnold at the festival the other day, and I'll need something I can use to pay my expenses when I get out of here."

"Out of where?"

"Out of town, Pheebs. I left the monastery even though my dad put me there, so it's not like I can move back home. Abbess Slovak is one mean old lady too, she's gonna come down on me like a ton of bricks. I have nowhere to go, and I can't very well hide in your room for years, so I have to find my way elsewhere. At least I can grab a bunch of loot from those rich suckers before I leave."

"But Helga, where will you go?"

"I don't really know. I could try to find my sister and Duke Doug, even though I still don't think Duke Doug is a real Duke. But I guess it's an option."

'"I thought you hated your sister?"

"Well, sort of. I mean, she's a pain, but she isn't bad sometimes. Otherwise I don't know what I'll do. Probably steal a horse and ride off into the forest until I find something interesting. I doubt my dad would let me go back home now, even if I wanted to."

Phoebe thought the plan seemed a little wild and reckless, even for Helga, but she also knew that her best friend was impossible to budge once she had her mind set on something. Phoebe also knew enough about Helga's father to know that if Helga had fled the monastery, she was probably in trouble. She wanted to think of something that could let her friend stay, something that would fix her situation, but the clarity of mind that Phoebe normally enjoyed was gone.

"What about Arnold?"

Helga shook her head.

"Arnold doesn't like me, Phoebe. I tried to see him one last time before I went to the monastery, and it didn't end well. There's no use with him. He wouldn't want to leave his village, anyway – he's not like that, you know? He cares too much about people, he wouldn't want to leave them behind."

Phoebe could see Helga's point. Her friend got up as if she was about to leave, but Phoebe grabbed her hand to stop her.

"Helga, wait, I – this is all happening so fast. There's nothing I can do to stop you?"

"I don't see any other options for me, Phoebe."

"Are you going to come back and visit, at least? Maybe I can speak with your parents, or try to talk to Lady Rhonda and Lord Curly and make your situation a little easier. I'm sure something can be done. They just have to hear a logical argument and see a little reason!"

Helga appreciated Phoebe's well-wishing, but she didn't see any of it being any use. Still, she was sure she could come back and visit someday, as long as she could get away with her castle heist without being caught and thrown into the dungeons. She just needed to leave her life behind for a while. She needed to find some way to be who she wanted to be, without being forced into a life that others wanted for her.

"Thanks for trying to help Phoebe, but it wouldn't work. Don't worry,we'll see each other again someday. I'll miss you until then."

Phoebe sniffed, holding back tears as she embraced Helga again.

"I'll miss you too."

XX

Lady Rhonda's story drew to a close as she sat in the room with Arnold. It was surprising to hear Lady Rhonda be so honest and up front about her own parents, about Arnold's family and his past after having kicked him out of the castle in such a rage earlier, but Arnold supposed she must have had some time to think about things.

He looked around the room in which his parents had once lived. It was up a stairway in a tower where Lady Rhonda had led him before beginning her recollections of his family. The bed where they had slept was still there, as was the basket in which he had been placed as a baby. The room was sparsely decorated otherwise, not that any rooms in the castle were that heavily decorated, but Arnold could almost feel his parents' presence in the stone walls, the dusty floor, even on the bed in which he sat and the wooden chair in which Lady Rhonda sat across from him. They were right beside him, and yet they were unimaginably far away.

"And that's why I didn't want you go come to the festival," said Lady Rhonda as she wrapped up her tale of Arnold's past and what she knew of his parents. "I mean, partly because you _are_ a peasant, and let's be honest, you're not going to fit in with anybody I know. But partly it was because I felt guilty. What my parents did was wrong, and I guess I didn't want to be reminded of it by seeing you. I just wanted to forget about things, but I guess that wouldn't be fair to you."

Arnold kept looking at the room, trying to imagine his parents in it from what he remembered of the portrait he had seen in the store room downstairs. Lord Thaddeus had gone down to get the portrait, along with anything else that might have belonged to his parents, so Arnold was looking forward to getting a visual aid in a moment. The more he imagined, the more he thought he could recall memories of the distant past.

Over there in the corner, just a wisp of an image. Himself, as a toddler, laughing as his father attacked him with a toy wooden horse. Arnold looked down at the bed on which he was sitting. Again, the faintest of images: his mother Stella telling him a bed time story as he drifted to sleep. He had lived in the castle so long ago, long before he could remember anything, that Arnold wasn't sure if the room was starting to bring back real memories or if they were just the wishes of his imagination. They certainly seemed real.

"So what can I do to make things right?" Lady Rhonda asked. "Maybe some gold pieces from the treasury? Or maybe I can restore your grandparent's land to you. I mean, as long as you farm it and give me some payment in dirt clods. I'm not just giving away a bunch of land for free here."

Arnold was surprised at the offer. Despite trying to look on the bright side of things, Arnold had come to the castle expecting there was a good chance he would just be kicked out yet again, at best. Now it looked like he was not only learning about his family, but he was about to become wealthy in the process. Wealthy for a peasant anyway.

"Lady Rhonda, that's an incredible offer. I don't know if I can accept it!"

Arnold immediately regretted speaking. What was he doing, turning down such a rare opportunity?

"Well, okay, if you really don't -"

"Uh, wait, no. I accept your offer, it's very generous of you."

Lady Rhonda stammered a bit and then nodded politely.

Arnold thought about what had just happened; if he was about to get his grandparent's lands, did that mean he would be moving out of Hill's Wood? Something about it did not sit well with him. The fact that he was getting so lucky while his friends and fellow villagers would remain in poverty just didn't seem right.

"Lady Rhonda, can I ask you something else instead?"

"Certainly."

"Where is this land that my grandparents used to own?"

"It is beyond your hamlet. There was once a path in the forest, although it's probably overgrown now. But if one goes a few miles into the forest and passes the river that runs through it, the land is on the other side. Not an ideal place to live, but your grandparents were a little strange."

"Well," said Arnold, "Could I share it with Hill's Wood? I know that I was born into nobility, but the people who live there are very close to me, and they didn't choose their lives any more than I did. I'd like to give them the gold, and if they could all be allowed to use the land with me, I'm sure we could improve our lives and turn out a few dirt clods for you in the process."

Lady Rhonda had trouble understanding why Arnold was worrying so much about peasants now that he had discovered his noble origins, but maybe there was something to it. Contrary to everything she had been taught by her parents, everything she had been taught to believe, Lady Rhonda was beginning to see that maybe all people were people in the end, and they all deserved a chance at happiness. Even if most of them would have no idea what to do with Lady Rhonda's wealth, fabulous clothing, and castle, of course.

"I don't see any problem with that," she told Arnold.

Their conversation ended, and the sound of grunting and groaning took its place as Lord Thaddeus dragged a chest through the door. The portrait of Arnold's parents was also strapped to his back. From the looks of it, he had pulled his cargo all the way up the tower stairway.

"Good lord, Curly, you could have gotten an attendant to help you with that."

"Oh, it's alright."

Lord Thaddeus pushed the chest into the middle of the room and opened it as Lady Rhonda and Arnold drew closer. "This belonged to your parents," he said as he unstrapped the portrait from his back and placed it into the room. "And I suppose this belongs in the room. Lady Rhonda's parents cleaned a number of things out when your parents were, uh – well, when they left, but they never really used this room for anything since then. Maybe it can be a place where you can stay whenever you visit."

"I can visit?"

"Well, certainly," Lord Thaddeus said. "I don't see why not."

He looked at his wife for support, who nodded her assent with a slight grimace.

Arnold sifted through the items that belonged to his parents. There was not much: some clothing, knick knacks, medicinal supplies that he assumed they must have used in their role as court physicians to the Lloyds, a few books that looked interesting but were perhaps a bit above Arnold's reading level. Arnold picked up one knick knack that immediately caught his attention. A small wooden horse. Maybe some of his memories were real after all.

As he dug deeper into the chest, he found an unmarked book that caught his attention more than any of the others. It was not a book about medicine or history. He opened it up and noticed the signature in the front cover, and as he began to read, he realized what it was.

"Something interesting?" asked Lord Thaddeus.

"It's my father's diary."

Arnold began to read through the pages with an insatiable hunger for his past. His father's voice rose up from the book and spoke of many adventures, some of which Arnold recognized from stories that his grandparents had told him as a child in Hill's Wood. He began to wonder how many of the tall tales he fondly remembered Grandpa Phil telling him really had a basis in truth. Arnold tried to restrain himself as he read. He did not want to read the whole diary as Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus stood awkwardly around, but the temptation was almost impossible to resist.

As he flipped through the pages he caught a glimpse of his parents. Who they were, what they liked, what they thought. He stopped on a page long enough to read of his father meeting his mother for the first time. Tripping awkwardly down the side of a hill as a first impression, an equally awkward courtship. And, finally: love.

The journal's pages flipped past him in a blur as he caught just enough to give him an image of his father's life. The diary spanned over a number of years, and as the pages reached their end, Arnold caught snippets of more worrying things. References to the great sickness in the south, bitter comments about the Lloyds and their harsh treatment, the way they didn't understand Miles and Stella's need for independence. The diary came abruptly to a halt, still dated many years ago, and Arnold flipped through several blank pages.

As he came to the back cover, however, a piece of parchment slipped out. Arnold picked up the parchment and stared at it as Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus peered curiously over his shoulders.

It was a map.

XX

* * *

_**Notes** - Since this is where the series ended, that's the end of the story!_

_Ok no, just kidding._


	8. Revelations

**Revelations**

XX

Helga kept close to the castle walls, hoping that none of the guards walking above her cared enough to lean out over the side. Fortunately, the guards in Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus's castle seemed to be fairly indifferent to their duties. Eventually, Helga reached a small stream that trickled away down the gently sloping hill on which the castle was built. The stream was coming from a hole dug just beneath the base of the castle wall, and Helga could see nothing but darkness as she peered inside.

While Helga's original plan had been to hide inside one of the many clod carts that were being brought inside the castle walls as the clod harvest was collected, she decided that the tunnel might be a better method of entry, assuming it actually led anywhere. She hiked up her clothing, about to step inside, when a hunchbacked shape loomed up out of the dark tunnel.

"Aieeee!"

A guard poked his head out over the parapets after hearing the high pitched screech, but he saw nothing, since the hunchbacked figure had just pulled Helga inside the tunnel. Helga's screams were muffled in the narrow tunnel as the figure dragged her further inside. Blind in the darkness, Helga flashed back to a story she remembered Gerald telling in Hill's Wood about a troll that guarded the castle sewers. _Great_, she thought. _All I wanted was a little gold, and now I'm gonna get eaten!_

"Keep quiet, we don't want the guards to hear us!" the troll whispered as Helga began to shriek again. Helga's shriek cut off as she frowned. Did trolls normally talk to their victims?

"Let go of me, you freak!"

"I won't hurt you, I just don't want to get caught!"

The two of them were running – Helga still being half-dragged - through a couple inches of fetid water that trickled slowly down the tunnel towards the entrance they had just left. Before long, the tunnel opened up into a small underground room, which was lit by a couple of torches. An old, dingy throne sat on a raised platform in the center of the room.

The hunched figure let Helga go. For a moment she was about to turn and flee, but she began to get the feeling that she was in no immediate danger of being eaten. In the light of the torches, Helga noticed that her strange abductor was not a troll but just a very ugly man. She decided to stay for a moment, in case he knew how to get into the castle.

"What is this place?" she asked the man.

"I am the Sewer King," said the man, "and this is my throne room!"

"Uh, that's swell. So we're in the castle sewers? You know, I didn't think a castle would need a whole sewer system in the first place."

The Sewer King trundled over to his throne and took a seat, looking over his new visitor. "It was originally just an underground stream. I've heard tell that when the castle was built, they built it atop the stream so that they would have a convenient supply of fresh water at all times. Unfortunately, nowadays they also use it as a place to dump their trash when they're too lazy to fling it over the walls or take it out to dump in some peasant village."

"Charming. Is there some way into the castle from down here?"

The Sewer King nodded and tilted his head in the direction of another tunnel, which receded further into the darkness. "There is a hole in the ceiling down that tunnel which leads into the castle dungeon. I can help you up into the dungeon if you give me some kind of trinket in compensation."

"A trinket?"

"Yes. Something to make it worth my while," said the Sewer King as he wrung his hands together in anticipation.

"Well, I don't have any trinkets," said Helga. "I mean, that's why I'm trying to get into the castle in the first place." She fished around in her pocket and found some leftover dormouse that she had forgotten to throw away after she had stolen it from the festival. After taking a surreptitious sniff, Helga decided it was not too spoiled yet.

"How about this?" she asked as she held out the leftover dormouse.

"You have yourself a deal!"

The Sewer King extended a grubby hand, which Helga shook very reluctantly. Helga was pretty sure that was just about the easiest deal she had ever made.

The two of them began to travel farther down the watery tunnel after he grabbed a torch from its wall sconce. The smell was a bit rank, although Helga had smelled worse in Hill's Wood, and occasionally she thought she felt the telltale slither of small creatures brushing past her ankles. Whether they were fish, frogs, or rats, there was not enough light to tell. Helga got the impression that she was traveling deeper into the earth with her hunched guide, even though the stream tunnel had to be relatively level with the ground above them.

They reached a point in the tunnel that looked like any other, but the Sewer King pointed up as Helga noticed a hole in the ceiling. There was a room beyond the hole, although it was just as dimly lit as the tunnel in which they were standing.

"There's the castle dungeon."

"Man," Helga mused out loud, "this castle isn't exactly an impenetrable fortress, is it?"

The Sewer King shrugged. "I suppose they haven't had any wars in a long time. That, and Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus both seem a little absent-minded."

"How do you know that?"

"Oh, I hear things down here," the Sewer King said with a wink. Helga was not quite sure what he meant by that, but the wink, coupled with his expression, made her shudder a little.

"Need a lift?" he asked.

"You bet."

Helga reached her hands up, almost able to touch the edge of the hole above her. After the Sewer King propped the torch against a tunnel wall, he grabbed Helga by the waist and boosted her up far enough to scrabbled her way up into the castle dungeon.

"No peeking!" Helga whispered as she made sure her kirtle was not revealing too much to the somewhat creepy man in the tunnel below her. He picked up the torch again and stared up at her through the hole in the sewer tunnel. After a brief nod of thanks, Helga got up and surveyed her surroundings.

She had come up from an opening in the corner of a room. In front of her was a small fire which burned in what looked like an open iron bowl of some kind. Shadows and orange streaks whispered across the floors, walls, and ceilings of the dungeons, and she saw dual rows of barred doors extending a little way down the room before a curling stairway twisted its way up to the rest of the castle. Fortunately, there did not seem to be any guards in the room. This was too easy, Helga thought.

She was about to pass the first barred cell door when she heard a whisper from inside.

"Hey! Let me out of here!"

Helga peered through the bars at the figure inside. The light was dim, but after a moment she began to make out a familiar face.

"Hey – Torvald, right? I remember you from Hill's Wood. What are you doing here?"

"Uh, I sort of stole a couple of chickens from the castle pens."

"Yikes."

"Yeah, I know, right? Those things can really peck at you, too! Anyway, the guard had to go to the bathroom, but he'll be back any minute. Think you can let me outta here?"

Helga was about to shake her head and take the stairway when she realized that Torvald could be a useful diversion. And from what she remembered of seeing him in Hill's Wood, he didn't seem particularly dangerous.

"Sure, but how do I get you out of there?"

"It opens from the outside."

Torvald snaked his hand out of the bars and tried to point to the wall adjacent to his cell door. "See, the locking mechanism should be on the wall there."

"Gotcha."

Helga was opening the iron door when she heard another voice coming from the cell behind her on the opposite wall. "You should let me out too!" the voice pleaded.

"Who are you?"

"Wolfgang. I was stealing chickens with Torvald."

"Yeah, he's cool," said Torvald.

"And me!" came another voice from down the hall, louder and raspier. "Get me outta here!"

Helga looked at Torvald to ask who the new voice was, and Torvald shook his head after he got out of his cell. Wolfgang also shook his head as the two of them began to open his door as well.

"Nah, that dude's a psycho. You wouldn't believe the stuff he's told us while we were stuck down here."

Helga shrugged as the two newly freed prisoners joined her and began to approach the stairs. "Sorry buddy," she said as she passed the prisoner in the third cell, "looks like you're staying."

"Aw, come on! The guy fell on the knife, I swear!"

Helga, Torvald, and Wolfgang were about to go up the stairs leading from the dungeon up into the ground floor of the castle when they heard someone whistling above them. The sound of footsteps drew closer, and a yellow glow appeared from the stairway. The dungeon guard was returning from his bathroom break.

"We'll take care of this," said Torvald. Wolfgang nodded in agreement.

"Don't do anything crazy," said Helga. She didn't feel too guilty about taking a little something from the treasure room for her upcoming journey, but she didn't really want anybody to be seriously hurt on her account.

The guard appeared as the trio found hiding places, and Helga watched as his whistling stopped abruptly. He stared at the two open cell doors for a moment, as if trying to process the scene before him, when suddenly he made a move as if he was about to race back towards the stairs. Before he could get more than a few steps, however, Torvald and Wolfgang leaped out and grabbed his arms on either side.

"Stop, prisoners! Get back in your-"

The two of them dragged the guard further into the dungeon and chucked him in one of the open cells they had just been released from. Torvald closed the door, locking the guard inside.

"Sorry dude, it's just temporary. We gotta go!"

Helga took the winding dark stairway with her two new allies trailing behind her, the guard yelling behind them.

"So what are you doing here?" said Torvald.

"Just grabbing a few things before I leave town."

"Maybe we'll join you."

They reached the ground floor of the castle, making sure there were no guards passing by before they darted out into the hall. The guard's voice could still be heard floating up from the dungeon below them, although it was faint.

Helga looked down both ends of the hall as she got her bearings. Hopefully she would be able to retrace her steps to the treasure room that she and Arnold had passed by on the night of the festival – Torvald and Wolfgang might serve as a distraction to let her escape from the castle more easily. After that, she wasn't quite sure what would happen, except that she planned to put as much distance between herself and her past life as possible.

XX

Everything was going much better than Arnold had expected.

It seemed like weeks ago, but as Arnold followed Lord Thaddeus down a hallway towards the treasure room, he could remember the night of the festival he had spent with Cecile. The steps he was taking were the very same steps he had taken with her, although he had been a little more rushed that night as he was dragged along by Cecile's strong grasp. He recognized the rooms they passed, and he knew the treasure room was at the end of the hall. As Arnold fondly remembered the festival, he found himself unable to believe what seemed impossible to ignore. Cecile was not Cecile. Could that beautiful noblewoman, that mysterious stranger, really have been Helga Pataki?

"Just giving our peasant friend here a little down payment on his new life as a noble," said Lord Thaddeus to a passing retainer. The retainer looked at the poorly-dressed peasant a little quizzically, but bowed politely as he passed by Lord Thaddeus and Arnold.

"That is," Lord Thaddeus added, "if you actually want to go live on that land your grandparents owned. Somehow I get the feeling you might be the type who would want to go on a little adventure first."

Arnold smiled as Lord Thaddeus gave him a wink. Visiting the castle for the first time during the festival had turned his life upside down, although temporarily, and this second visit seemed to be making the change permanent. Lady Rhonda was off talking with some attendants about the details of giving Arnold his family's land back as a fief, while Lord Thaddeus was giving him some gold from the treasury to get him started with his new life. Whatever that new life was, anyway.

Arnold felt like he had more options than he knew what to do with. While the idea of using his new land to help his friends in Hill's Wood was very tempting, he also couldn't stop thinking about the map he had found in the chest of his parent's belongings. He knew that there was a good chance his parents were no longer alive, but still, there was also a chance that they were. Arnold had always been one to look on the bright side, and he could not resist letting his hopes rise. At the least, he wanted some kind of closure. Maybe going on an adventure would give him that.

"Here we are," Curly said as they reached the treasure room. He pursed his lips at the sight of the door of the treasury, which was ajar. The guard who normally stood watch was also missing. Then again, that guard -what was his name, Bob? - looked like he was asleep almost every time Curly saw him.

He eased the door open a little further as the two of them entered the room. Arnold looked around in wonder at the glitter and glint of invaluable objects around him: golden chalices, religious talismans, jewelry and gemstones, chests both closed and opened to boast of their precious contents. He wondered how much time it took to collect so much wealth, and why it was all stored away instead of being used to help people. Perhaps it was just another habit of nobles that he would never understand.

"This should do well for a long time," Curly said as he handed Arnold a bag of gold coins. "Of course, as our new vassal, we'll expect you to work for us and return the favor, but I am sure that if you need help in the future, all you have to do is ask. I know Rhonda can be a little strict, but don't worry – I think she is beginning to soften up a little."

"I don't mind working hard," said Arnold, "but I know that some of my fellow villagers can be exhausted after the clod harvests sometimes. Do you think it would be possible if Lady Rhonda could ease up a little around harvest time from now on? I know it's a great favor to ask."

Arnold was a little nervous, but he knew he was in a rare position, and he wanted to get whatever he could out of it to help his fellow villagers, especially since Lord Thaddeus seemed to be a little harder to ruffle than Lady Rhonda. Lord Thaddeus laughed at Arnold's question and nodded.

"I'm sure I can work on her a little."

"And I have one last favor to ask, Lord Thaddeus."

"Please, call me Curly."

"Okay."

Curly tilted his head for Arnold to ask his favor.

"You know Helga, right?"

"Of course. I was a little disappointed she didn't show up at the festival."

"Er, yeah. Well, her father recently put her into a monastery, and I know that's not really what she wants in life. I'm not asking you to do anything for her like you've done for me, but is there any chance you could talk to her father about letting her leave the monastery? From what she's said, he can be really stubborn, but I thought maybe someone in your position could do something about it."

"That shouldn't be a problem. I wasn't aware she was in the monastery at all, and you're right – that doesn't seem like a good fit for her. Especially not with that Abbess Slovak in charge," Curly said with a slight retching sound.

"Thanks, I appreciate it. And I think Helga will appreciate it too. Thanks again for everything you're done for me."

"You're very welcome. Honestly, I had been hoping to invite you to the festival because I wanted to make things right. I think, in the long run, this will be good Rhonda just like it will be good for you. I didn't like the way it was weighing on her conscience, and I believe it's best to get things out in the open."

"True."

Arnold looked down at the bag of gold he was holding – maybe what Lord Thaddeus and Lady Rhonda had done for him was good for them, but he was fairly sure he was getting the better end of the bargain.

"I hope you'll excuse me," Arnold said, "but there's still some work to be done back at the village."

"Of course. I will return to Lady Rhonda and make sure everything is in order with getting your grandparent's land back into your family name. You can find Brainy out by the gatehouse, and he will be happy to give you a ride back to Hill's Wood in the royal carriage."

"Thanks again."

Curly bowed as the former peasant went down the hall towards the castle entrance. Now that things had been set right, he felt much better. His good humor was tempered a little by the fact that he still had to talk to Helga's father, Portly Bob, about letting her out of the monastery. Although he enjoyed Helga's caustic wit, Portly Bob could be a real pain.

XX

Helga crouched down in the padded passenger seat of the royal carriage, peering out from the window to see if anyone was following her. No one so far.

The two guards who had been pursuing her had stuck their heads out of the castle's front doors earlier, but since they weren't even sure where Helga had gone, they went back inside to pursue her two partners in crime. Helga counted her lucky stars that Torvald and Wolfgang had been dumb enough to run up a stairway to one of the castle's towers instead of breaking for the entrances. Apparently they were not quick thinkers under pressure. Which explained why they were caught in the first place.

Helga had darted into the royal carriage after bursting out of the doors of the Great Hall, as it was the closest hiding place available before any guards spotted her as they made their rounds on the castle walls or around the gatehouse. Hopefully Torvald and Wolfgang would provide enough of a distraction inside the castle for her to escape.

She cursed her bad luck; Helga had not even been able to get inside the treasury and take anything before the guards spotted the three of them. No sooner had she opened the treasury door than two guards came strolling down the hall, catching her red-handed. One of them looked pretty flustered – Helga figured he was probably the one who was supposed to be at his post but had gone off to chat or something – but as soon as they had recovered from their surprised, they were hot on Helga's heels. And now they would probably reveal her identity to Lord Thaddeus and Lady Rhonda.

She began to feel a little guilty about even attempting to steal from Thaddy, as she didn't mind him nearly as much as Lady Rhonda. Her plan was looking like a complete failure so far. She had managed to get out of the castle, but now she had to worry about escaping from the castle grounds. Maybe if she sneaked out of the carriage's passenger compartment, hooked up a couple of horses, and took up the reins in front, she could bluff her way into getting out through the main gates...

Helga leaped back in fright as the passenger door abruptly opened, her back plastered against the opposite door. She was caught - the jig was up!

"Cecile – I mean, Helga?"

Helga gulped at the new carriage passenger.

"Uh... hey Arnold."

Arnold had not expected to have a second passenger with him in the carriage, but he supposed he had wanted to talk to Helga. Now was his chance. He settled down in his side of the red velvet padded seat and looked at Helga with an amused smile, who was still crouching below the window on her side as if trying to hide from him. The carriage began to move as Brainy, who was sitting outside the passenger compartment out in front where he had hooked the horses up, drove it out of the carriage house and towards the gatehouse.

"What are you doing here, Helga?"

"Me? Oh, you know, I just thought I'd go for a little ride."

Helga looked at the deerskin bag that Arnold had placed on the chair. Brainy spoke briefly to a guard outside of the carriage, but apparently no one had noticed the extra passenger – or, if they did, they did not care – as the carriage was now trundling along down the sloping path from the castle gates on its way to the hamlet of Hill's Wood. Helga risked a glance out the window as the castle gates receded behind them. There was no one following them. At least, not yet.

"What's that?" asked Helga as she turned back and reached for the package. Arnold slapped her hand away with a grin, and she couldn't help but smile back.

"It's a bag of gold."

"What? For real?"

"Yeah. It's been an interesting day. Seriously though, what are you doing here in the royal carriage? I went to visit your dad and he said you were already in the monastery."

"I sort of escaped," Helga admitted. "Wait a minute, you were visiting my dad?"

"Yeah, I thought maybe I could talk to him and get you out. A monastery really didn't seem like your thing."

"Yeah, it's true, I-" Helga paused. "Why were you trying to get me out, anyway? I thought you didn't like me. I mean, the last time I saw you, you said you didn't know why I came around and bothered you all the time."

"Well, I don't. I don't know why you bother me, I mean. But that doesn't mean I want to see you in a monastery. And honestly, you're not that bad when you try to act civil instead of throwing things at me or making fun of me for being a peasant. What you did for my grandparents, for instance, meant a lot to me."

Helga said nothing, but she knew what he was referring to.

"You can be a real pain, but I know there's a lot more to you than you let on, Helga. Or should I be calling you Cecile?"

The carriage was silent for a moment, and both Helga and Arnold listened to the clatter of the wheels passing over dirt and rock, mingled with the heavy wheezing that came from their driver. The driver in question glanced back through the front window of the carriage and nodded to his passengers.

"Uh, hi Helga," he wheezed.

"Hi Brainy. You're not going to tell Lord Thaddeus and Lady Rhonda about me, are you? I wasn't exactly invited into the castle, and I'm kind of escaping right now."

Helga was reluctant to admit to anything more, but she got the feeling that Brainy would not have left if he wasn't okay with helping her out. Brainy wheezed a moment more before giving Helga a small nod and a wink. He returned his attention to the increasingly unkempt road ahead of them.

"Seems like you're making a habit out of sneaking into the castle," Arnold said, unable to restrain his curiosity.

"Well, I was planning to grab something from the treasury and just get out of here, you know. I don't know where, just anywhere. Away from my parents, away from everything. I just wanted to start over."

"Yeah, but stealing is the wrong way to make a fresh start."

"Oh lord," said Helga with a roll of her eyes. "They're rich! You think they need all that treasure? Okay, so Thaddeus isn't that bad, but it's not like I'm some kind of monster. You can be such a goody-two-shoes sometimes."

Arnold took the comment in stride, as he had gotten far worse from Helga, and he was surprised she was being so honest with him in the first place. Maybe he could get the whole truth from her.

"So, you're avoiding what I said, Helga. Are you going to tell me what the deal with that whole Cecile thing was?"

Helga shrugged helplessly. Maybe her Cecile disguise hadn't been as foolproof as she had thought. "How did you know I was Cecile?" she asked.

"Your dad said that Arnie proposed to you, except I knew Arnie was interested in Cecile, so I put two and two together. That," said Arnold as he offered Helga the dandelion he had been holding, "and I saw these in your garden. It seemed a little too poetic to be a coincidence."

Helga took the dandelion and placed it into her hair.

"You're right. And thank you for returning my stolen property to me," she said as she stuck her tongue out at her fellow passenger.

"So, why were you acting like someone else at the festival? Were you just playing a game with me?"

"No, it wasn't a game. I just didn't want to be myself. I mean, I – I just thought I could act differently around you if I was Cecile. Being someone else let me act how I wanted. It let me ignore the past and say what I really felt-"

"What you really felt?"

Arnold considered whether or not he wanted to be blunt. Since Helga seemed to be in a reasonably truthful mood, he decided it was best to come right out and ask.

"So does that mean you like me?"

Helga's explanation ground to a halt. This was the moment of truth. The moment she had been waiting for.

Arnold sat patiently, awaiting her answer, and she could swear that she noticed Brainy peeking through the corner of his eye as he drove the carriage. Hill's Wood was coming into sight, and Helga knew that if she was really planning to leave everything behind, this was her last chance to be honest.

But what if honesty destroyed her? She knew she had never given Arnold much of a reason to like her. Arnold was a forgiving boy, that was for sure, and he tolerated her more than she deserved, but she had been fairly merciless in the past. What if she spilled her secret to him and he rejected her? What if he laughed in her face? Helga didn't know if she could deal with that. But then again, she didn't have much to lose anymore.

_ Buck up, old girl_, she told herself. _Maybe it won't be so bad, and at least you won't be taking any regrets with you. Ah, what the heck._

"Yes, Arnold. I like you."

Arnold was about to respond, but Helga interrupted him as she began to gesticulate wildly.

"I mean, come on! I hang out at Hill's Wood all the time, I talk to you more than anyone else there even if I'm bothering you most of the time. Sometimes I just sit there and watch you farm dirt clods. Do you think that's interesting? Do you think I _care_ about dirt clods? How blind can you _be_, Arnold? I don't just like you, I LOVE you! I'm crazy about you! Sometimes I plant flowers in my garden to try to arrange them in the shape of your head! I dream about you day and night! You're the peasant of my dreams, Arnold!"

A long silence fell over them. Arnold had not been expecting quite that much of a response.

"Actually," he said nervously, not sure how to address her outburst yet, "I'm not exactly a peasant anymore. It turns out my family was nobility, and Lady Rhonda's parents took my grandparent's land away from them after my mom and dad left, but Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus are giving it back to me. And this is seriously a bag of gold," said Arnold as he opened the bag lying on the seat between them and took out a gold coin. "See?"

Helga's outpouring was stymied for a moment, but she found herself unable to stop.

"Okay well, that's awesome, and all of a sudden you're even hotter than you used to be which I didn't think was possible, but aren't you listening to me? I love you, Arnold – I _love_ you! What do you have to say to that? How do you feel about me?"

Arnold stared uncomfortably into space as Helga stopped talking for a moment, trying to avoid her eyes. She looked like she was about to grab him in a frenzy and shake him until he responded. While he had been expecting Helga to reveal some feelings he never would have guessed she had, her emotional tornado was a little overwhelming.

Arnold had taken some time to think about things since he had his realization at Helga's house, but he still wasn't sure what to think. What to feel. Helga was still an enigma to him, although she was finally starting to take off her mask. He was beginning to see the real Helga. The honest Helga. But he had to be honest with her as well.

"Helga - I'm flattered, but I don't know how I feel about you."

XX

Lady Rhonda sat in the throne room with her husband next to her. Her favorite lady-in-waiting, Nadine, stood beside her. Rhonda dipped her quill pen into an ink well one final time, writing her flourishing signature on the papers that transferred the Shortman family's old land to Arnold, as well any future little Shortmans that might appear in his family. Arnold had already sworn his fealty earlier, and now the deed was done. She gave the documents to a page, who carried them off as Curly squeezed her hand.

"You did the right thing, honey."

"I must agree," said Nadine. "I think this is better for everyone."

"We'll need to teach him how to wear decent clothing and act like a civilized person," said Rhonda. "If he's going to be coming into the castle as our guest in the future, we can't have him being an embarrassment."

Curly coughed at his wife's comment. "Actually," he said, "Arnold might not be settling down immediately."

"Oh? What do you mean?"

"I can't say for sure, but it sounded like he might be interested in looking for his parents."

"I see. Well, I wish him good luck, but I hope he's not disappointed with what he finds. I haven't heard any word of them in years."

"You're right, but I think he just wants to know one way or the other."

Rhonda could understand Arnold's need for closure, as she was feeling a sense of closure herself now that the whole awkward Lloyd-Shortman-rivalry business was over with. It was still hard for her to wrap her head around the idea of a peasant like Arnold owning a big plot of land and acting like a noble, but she knew she had done the right thing. And, just like marrying her husband, it was a sort of act of rebellion against her parents, even if they were no longer around. Maybe she could finally close the book on that part of her past as well.

Her business being finished, Rhonda considered going to the kitchens to ask the cook to make some baked dormice. She was about to get up when she perked her ears at the sound of a commotion coming from somewhere else in the castle. Curly and Nadine also froze, listening to what sounded like several screams and a 'stop!' which reached them through a few stone walls. The sound of running footsteps grew louder and then trailed off.

Rhonda was about to investigate when more running footsteps drew closer, and a page burst into the throne room, breathing heavily.

"What is it?"

"Lady Rhonda, Lord Thaddeus, a couple of prisoners have been released from the castle dungeons. One of the guards was overpowered and locked in the dungeon cells, and another guard saw the two prisoners trying to steal from the treasury with a young lady."

"A young lady?"

"Yes, milady. The guards said they recognized her as one of your guests at the castle festival the other day – a woman named Cecile, they said."

Rhonda narrowed her eyes at the sound of the name. That strange woman she had never seen before. She knew there had been something off about Cecile, especially considering that Rhonda had never invited her to the festival in the first place. Clearly she was some kind of professional thief! Rhonda felt her head begin to pound. What a day.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" she asked the page. "Rouse all the guards, make sure the three of them are caught immediately!"

Rhonda stormed out of the throne room, her good mood clearly gone. Curly watched her leave with a gulp. Nadine gave him a sympathetic look before Rhonda glanced back at her lady-in-waiting with an impatient glare and motioned for her to follow. The two of them left Curly to himself as the commotion began to die down.

Curly sank back into his throne with a sigh. So _that_ was why the guard had not been standing watch at the treasury door. Quite a coincidence, almost being robbed from their treasury right after he and Arnold had just been there. And by that guest they had at the festival, no less. Something about Cecile set his mind going like a butter churn, but dealing with Arnold and his wife all day had drained him too much to think about it too closely.

He sighed again and decided to take a little nap, knowing his wife would take care of catching the thieves. What a day.


	9. Pigeons and Pursuits

**Pigeons and Pursuits**

XX

Helga and Arnold got out of the royal carriage as it reached the outskirts of Hill's Wood. Brainy did not want to try driving the carriage into the village itself, seeing as there was barely any road leading across the fields to the village in the first place, much less a path between the ramshackle huts that a carriage could navigate easily. The peasant and the merchant's daughter waved at the coachman as he struggled to get the horses to turn the carriage around back in the direction of the castle. He gave the two passengers a wheezy smile as he left.

"Look, Arnold," said Helga as they walked into the village, "I'm going to have to leave soon, so we don't have much time left."

"Why?" asked Arnold. "I told Lord Thaddeus about the monastery thing, and I think he'd still talk to your dad about it. I'm sure you can stay now, you don't have to worry about being a nun again."

"Maybe not, but you met my dad, right? It's always going to be something with him. I just feel like I need a break, I need to get out of here and do something new. I want to make my own path in life." Helga scratched her neck sheepishly as she thought about a more pressing reason to leave. "Also, the guards kind of noticed me when I was trying to break into the treasury with Torvald and Wolfgang, so they're probably going to be coming for me soon."

For a moment Arnold considered groaning, but knowing Helga's disposition, he supposed the news was not that surprising. "No kidding?" he said, trying not to sound disapproving. "So Torvald's free? I always thought he was given a bad rap."

"That's not the point, Arnold. I have to flee before I'm caught."

Helga gritted her teeth in frustration as the two of them approached the town square. She was spending her last moments with her true love, the apple of her eye, the dandelion of her desire, and it was not what she wanted. Arnold had finally heard her confession, and his answer was about as unsatisfying as it got. He didn't know how he felt? How could she leave with that answer?

It was almost worse than a clear no, because she might just end up traveling to God knows where with no clue as to whether she even had a chance with Arnold. Always wondering what could have been. Helga couldn't leave with things the way they were.

"Arnold," she said, "I have an idea."

"What's that?"

The two of them reached the village square, and Helga noticed a few of Arnold's fellow peasants leaving behind their work to greet their friend. Helga did not want the other villagers gawking at what she was about to say, so she blurted it out as quickly as she could.

"Why don't you leave with me?"

"Um – what?"

"Even if you don't know how you feel, don't you ever want to get out of your village? You told me at the festival that night, when we were on the rooftop looking up the stars, do you remember? You told me you had an adventurous spirit, that you thought maybe you were like your parents. Why not put your money where your mouth is, Arnold?"

"Helga, I'm just a peasant, I-"

"No you're not! You just told me you're not a peasant anymore." Helga gave a kick to the bag Arnold was holding. "You're holding a bag of money, Arnold. Criminy!"

Arnold looked down at the bag. He hadn't even remembered taking it off the carriage; he was glad he had not left it behind when they got out. His first impulse, just for a split second, was to laugh at Helga's proposition – not in cruelty, but in disbelief. The girl who had treated him so harshly for so long, who didn't seem to have any real plan in mind as to what she was doing, wanted him to leave his village behind, with no idea where he was going? It seemed ludicrous.

And yet, the more he thought about it, the more it tempted him.

"Hey Arnold, how's it going?"

Tailor Kokoshka approached Arnold, staring at the bag he was holding with a curious eye.

"Not now Kokoshka, I'm thinking."

Kokoshka looked from Arnold to Helga for a moment and shrugged before wandering off to other parts of the village in search of a bite to eat. Arnold stared blankly at Helga; she was clearly waiting for a response. Helga had a point, when he thought about it. There was something tempting about the idea of going to parts unknown, leaving his village behind. And he _did_ want to know what had happened to his parents, as Lord Thaddeus had suggested in the castle earlier.

"How do I know you're not just going to treat me like you've always treated me? This is all pretty sudden, Helga."

"Look, I'm sorry about what I've done in the past, Arnold. I know I'm not a clod farmer or anything, I'm not going to pretend I have it as hard as you've had it, but you might have noticed my family has some issues, and you know how different our lives have been. It's not like it's normal for me to be attracted to some peasant."

Helga furrowed her brow as she realized that she was not making things easier for herself.

"I mean, not that there's anything wrong with being a peasant. And you're like a rich peasant now, anyway. Argh!"

Arnold's eyes widened, almost completely unlidded, as Helga grabbed him by the arms and pulled him a little closer. He noticed his friend Gerald approaching, but Helga's intensity was a little unnerving, so he gave her his full attention.

"Look," said Helga, "okay, here's what I'm trying to say: I love you, Arnold. I've loved you ever since I first saw you. I didn't know how to express it because of how different our circumstances were, and because of all my issues, but I'm telling you now.

"I don't know if it's the bow-shaped head or what - maybe it's the way you're always helping out people in the village, always looking on the bright side of things, the way you tolerate me being such a weirdo. Maybe I wish I could be more like you. I can't really explain it, Arnold, I just know how I feel - and I promise you that I'll be more honest from now on. I'm being honest now, right?"

"Yeah, I guess, but-"

The rest of Arnold's sentence was cut off by Helga's lips.

Helga pulled him closer and gave him a kiss that stole his breath away. Arnold returned the kiss, not even thinking, his thoughts rapidly turning to mush anyway. Her kiss was a demand, an order, and Arnold had no choice but to kiss back. There was no avoiding it. There was no ignoring the forceful passion in her touch, the taste of her lips. He found himself clinging to her, hoping she wouldn't stop even though she had no intention to stop, all of his doubts and worries being put on hold by the desire for more, more, just a little bit more.

Arnold hadn't had the time - or the opportunity - to kiss anyone much in his life, but he knew this kiss was special. This kiss was something else.

Almost against her will, Helga forced herself to release Arnold from the kiss. She stood back to check his reaction. He looked like he was about to fall over, but he steadied himself at the last moment.

"I have so much to give you, Arnold, if you just give me a chance."

Arnold was at a loss for words. He couldn't deny there was something in that kiss, something powerful. He couldn't deny his temptation. Helga was changing before his eyes, not into Cecile, but into a Helga that he had only caught glimpses of in the past. But he still felt the pull of his friends and fellow villagers in Hill's Wood. It was the only life he had ever known, and it was trying to pull him back.

And yet, if he did leave with Helga, it wasn't as if the two of them would be gone forever. He knew he would return, and he knew Helga would want to see Phoebe again, and he certainly wouldn't want to leave Gerald behind forever. He felt an obligation to help his fellow villagers, his community, but he reminded himself that he had already done that. They would be able to use his land, and Lord Thaddeus and Lady Rhonda had sounded like they would be a little more benevolent towards Hill's Wood.

Maybe there wasn't as much holding him back as he thought.

"Um, what the heck was that?"

Arnold noticed his friend Gerald standing beside him. Judging by her bright red blush, Helga hadn't noticed him at first either. Gerald looked at the two of them with a face that couldn't seem to decide whether it was sick or horrified.

"Hello Arnold," came another voice. "Nice to see you again, Helga. What's going on with you two?"

Friar Simmons joined the group in the village square, and Arnold noticed several more villagers gathering around. Some of them had been working in the fields, but wanted to know why the royal carriage had stopped by the village before passing them on its way back to the castle.

"Um... Helga is about to leave, and she asked me to go with her."

"She _what_?"

Gerald looked like he was about to be asphyxiated. Friar Simmons noticed Helga's blush and Arnold's flustered look of confusion and began to catch on to what he and the other villagers were interrupting. He thought it was about time for something to happen between them.

"Well, are you leaving with her?" he asked.

Arnold shrugged helplessly. Normally he was fairly decisive, but this was just too much for him.

Gerald looked wildly back and forth between Helga and his best friend, still trying to process the mind-shattering kiss he had been staring at a moment earlier. "Helga asked you to go with her? What's going on here, man?"

Helga groaned at the sudden loss of privacy as even more villagers gathered in the square. She was becoming fairly certain that she had the worst timing for highly personal confessions in the world. Before she could explain things to Gerald, since Arnold still looked like he had temporarily lost track of reality, the sound of hooves pounding against the ground came from somewhere beyond the village. The distant sound had been growing louder for a few moments already, but the villagers had been a little distracted by the goings-on in the square.

The pounding hooves grew louder, now joined by the occasional whinny, and the villagers stared in the direction of the racket as a pair of horses stormed into the village square. The horses ground to a halt as Torvald and Wolfgang dismounted.

"Hey Helga!"

"Hey guys. Nice to see you managed to get out of the castle."

"Don't make fun of us!" whined Torvald, sensing Helga's dripping sarcasm. "Everything happened so fast, we forgot about the entrance and all, and I guess we just got lost in the castle for a while." He threw an apprehensive look behind his back, in the direction he had come from, as he held on to his horse's reigns. "Uh, by the way, there might be a few guards following us, and they're after you too, Helga. You might want to get out of here."

"Thanks so much," said Helga, although she had been expecting something like this to happen. "What about you two?"

"Well, we live here," said Torvald as he motioned to the village around him. "We're just gonna hide for a while. Hopefully they'll forget about us eventually. I mean, all we did is steal a few chickens. What's the big deal?"

The villagers heard the sound of approaching hooves yet again, this time a little more distant, and Torvald and Wolfgang scattered in opposite directions amongst the village huts. Helga could see a bit of the fields past the village through a gap in some of the houses, and sure enough, Torvald had been right: she caught a glimpse of more horses approaching rapidly, being spurred forward by armored figures. There was not much time left.

"Hey, you mind if I-"

Helga was about to ask for permission to take one of the horses, but seeing as Torvald and Wolfgang were already long gone into hiding, she decided to help herself. Helga grabbed the horse's saddle and vaulted herself up with the stirrup. She looked down at Arnold, who still looked like he did not know where he was.

"Well?" she asked him. "Now's your chance, Arnold."

Arnold looked at Friar Simmons as if he was asking for advice. Friar Simmons gave him a wink and a nod. He then turned to Gerald, who shook his head not in disapproval so much as in helpless confusion. The sound of the galloping horses drew closer, and Arnold knew he had to make a decision. He reached out to give Gerald his bag of gold.

"Cripes, Arnold! At least just keep half of it."

Arnold nodded absently at Helga and emptied half of the bag into Gerald's hands. A few gold coins spilled onto the ground, and the Tailor Kokoshka leaped out of nowhere to grab them, but the disapproving looks of the rest of the villagers were enough to make him reluctantly hand the coins back to Gerald.

"Use those to help out the village in whatever way you see fit, Gerald. I'm going with Helga."

Gerald looked at the coins and knew that Arnold had made his decision. He still couldn't believe what was going on, but obviously he had missed a few things since Arnold had gone to that castle festival. He looked up at Helga, who was still waiting impatiently on the horse, and the thought of the festival set a thought firing off in his brain. It was the only explanation that could even begin to make sense of Arnold and Helga's behavior.

"Oh – oooh. Helga is Cecile?"

"You got it, buddy," said Helga.

"Alright, I think we're in a hurry, so we have to go," said Arnold. He pulled Gerald into a warm embrace and patted him on the back. "I'm sorry I'm leaving so quickly. Goodbye Gerald, bye Friar Simmons!"

"I'll miss you, man."

"I'll miss you too Gerald. But don't worry – we'll be back someday, I promise."

Arnold tried to leap onto the back of his horse, but a hard fall onto the ground reminded him that he did not know how to ride a horse. _Oops_, he thought. Several villagers helped him up onto the saddle as the horse bucked a little, but fortunately it did not seem skittish enough to run away and send Arnold flying onto the ground again.

"I reckon you and Helga must be the craziest couple I ever did see," said Stinky. "But I s'pose it's mighty romantic and all, what with that big kiss I saw earlier!"

"Oh, I think the two of you will get along ever so well," said Lila, who had just joined the group. "I'm very happy for you, Helga."

Helga stared at the red-haired peasant who had, until recently, been the object of Arnold's affections. During her visits to Hill's Wood, she had seen the way Arnold looked at her, and had even heard Arnold admit his interest in her once. Still, Arnold was on the horse now. He had made his decision. Helga was beginning to realize that she was about to get what she wanted. Maybe she could be civil.

"Thanks, Lila."

The approaching horses grew louder. The guards had to be near the edge of the village by now.

"Alright Arnold, it's time to go!"

Arnold waved goodbye to Hill's Wood as Helga snapped the reins and sent her horse racing in the opposite direction of the fields, heading towards the forest that bordered the village. Arnold somehow managed to get his horse to face the same direction - roughly. As his friends and fellow peasants wished him good luck, he snapped his own reins in an imitation of Helga and hoped for the best. His horse galloped off in pursuit, although Arnold got the feeling it was mainly ignoring him while it followed its equine friend. He was being to regret not just getting on the back of Helga's horse. He didn't think anything could be bumpier than a ride in a carriage, but horse riding seemed to be even worse.

"Move it, bow head!"

Helga's voice came trailing back to him as they passed through the first trees. Arnold was forced to slow down, still unsure how how to direct his horse, and Helga had to rein in her own horse a little to keep from passing so many trees that she became obscured from Arnold's view.

They pressed deeper into the forest and passed the old shack where Arnold used to sit and think sometimes. He gave the shack a last look as his horse galloped by. It was possible he would never see it again. He hoped to come to back to Hill's Wood, but he knew that he was walking a path unknown, perhaps fraught with danger. He mouthed a silent goodbye to his favorite forest hiding place. Despite the trees and undergrowth slowing him down, Arnold was going fast enough that he did not hear the soft cooing of pigeons in the canopy above him.

"Stop, in the name of Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus!"

Arnold risked a glance back from his precarious perch on top of the horse, which almost sent him toppling over the side. However, it was enough to see that the guards pursuing them had entered the outskirts of the forest. Both of them were going faster than Arnold or Helga. It would not be long before they had caught up. Arnold's horse seemed to sense that it was being pursued and sped up, trying to reach its companion up ahead.

Arnold wasn't even sure if Helga knew where she was going. He trailed right behind her as the two of them whipped past tree trunks, trampled bushes and sent birds flying up into the air. He ducked repeatedly, narrowly avoiding overhanging branches, although the occasional whip-like branch lashed his body as he passed, leaves flying across his face as the horse hurtled on. He could hear his pursuers right behind him. Gaining, gaining - they were right on top of him...

Helga's horse ground to a halt as it caught wind of something up ahead. Arnold groaned as his own horse ignored his vague directions and followed its friend's example. There was no hope now. They were as good as caught.

Arnold was wondering why Helga's horses had stopped, about to get off of his own horse and surrender, when he felt a shiver run down his back at the sight of something up ahead. Something was coming closer. Something dark, gray-black, and writhing, snaking its way through the tops of the trees. The castle guards behind him almost fell off their own horses as they ground to a halt. Arnold was frozen, unsure of what to do as Helga looked back at him with fear in her eyes.

Before he knew what was happening, the dark mass was on them.

A harsh torrent of air blew Arnold's hair wildly around as the mass approached, and Arnold caught a glimpse of Helga throwing up her hands before she was engulfed. The mass passed him, and a blur of flapping wings and open beaks went past him in the blink of an eye.

It was a flock of pigeons.

The birds ignored Arnold and Helga and went right past them to the guards, descending in a mass on the two unfortunate men in armor. Screeching, pecking, flapping wildly. One of the guards flew off his horse as it reared up in terror, and the other horse began to jerk wildly back and forth, knocking against several trees, until it finally plunged back in the direction it came with its rider clinging onto his reins for dear life. The writhing mass of pigeons followed the two guards as they fled from the forest, and the deafening din of squawks and flaps grew fainter as the chaotic scene receded into the trees.

Helga and Arnold clung to their reins and tried to keep their balance as their horses began to calm down. Their bucking turned into nervous hooves pawing at the ground. Their flared nostrils and wild eyes began to settle. Arnold saw Helga's expression and couldn't help but smile, even though his heart was beating at about twice its normal rate.

"_What_ – the – heck – was that?"

Arnold looked up into the trees. He had no answer, but sometimes he had gotten a strange feeling when he sat near the old shack in the past and enjoyed being peacefully alone. Almost as if, every once in a while, he was peacefully not alone.

Maybe it was just the pigeons who had come to help a friend who kept them company at the edge of the forest.

Or maybe it was something else.

XX

Flashes of orange and yellow could be seen glittering through the treetops, but the forest itself was becoming darker and darker. The sound of crickets, owls, and other creatures of the night began to grow louder as a blanket of gloom descended over the forest floor.

Arnold and Helga had been picking their way through the trees for what seemed like hours, and while Arnold had been following Helga at first, he had taken the lead – as best he could manage, although his horse seemed to be getting more manageable - since he knew where the river was. Neither of them really had any idea where they were planning to go, but camping by the river seemed like the best thing to do when night fell.

Unfortunately, Arnold did not know the river's location as well as he thought.

"So, I'm guessing we've been going in circles?" said Helga, half a statement and half a question, as she noticed them happening across hoof marks printed into the soft ground. "Way to take the lead, bow head!"

"You know, Helga, I took a chance when I came with you. You're not going to go back to browbeating me all the time, are you?"

Although it could not be seen in the darkening light, Helga's cheeks turned pink with embarrassment when she realized that Arnold had a point. Here she was, lucky beyond her wildest dreams, and she was slipping back into her old ways. Not that Helga thought she would ever become a goody-two-shoes like that peasant girl Lila was - but at the very least, she needed to make an effort.

"You're right. I'm sorry, Arnold. I just hope that we aren't lost."

"Oh, we are," Arnold said with a rueful laugh. "I thought the river was parallel with the village – I mean, how hard can it be? I guess maybe we lost track of our direction though."

"Well, that's alright my love, we'll find our way to the river. I have complete faith in you!"

It was Arnold's turn to flush a little. _My love?_

It wasn't the kind of thing Helga had ever said to him in the past, even when she was being sarcastic, but the tone of her voice had been completely serious. He was glad that she was trying to ease up on the harsh attitude a little, but talk about a total reversal. Hearing such frank emotion from Helga was a little disconcerting – but then again, she loved him? She had complete faith in him? The thought of someone really feeling that way about him was a bit thrilling, he had to-

"Arnold, branch!"

The tree branch smacked Arnold square in the face before he even noticed it. He fell off the saddle and hit the ground hard as his horse, which did not immediately notice its loss of a rider, trotted on for a few moments before it stopped and looked back. It gave a brief whinny, and although Arnold was dazed, he thought it sounded suspiciously like horse laughter.

"Oh no, Arnold!"

Helga leaped off of her own horse and crouched down, helping Arnold up and cradling him in her lap.

"My darling boy, are you alright?"

"Uh, yeah, thanks. Just help me back up."

Arnold struggled back onto his horse as Helga helped give him a boost, her hands lingering on his body a little longer than would be expected of someone just doing a friendly favor. The way Helga was acting around him was becoming increasingly hard to miss – she was definitely into him. How had he not noticed it before? Was she just hiding it, and now she was acting differently, or was he really that oblivious?

Arnold held a hand to his forehead and winced. It still stung, and a welt rose up from where the branch hit him. He looked around the darkening forest, wondering how he was going to get his bearings and find the river, when he heard a soft cooing noise in the trees above him. He looked up and noticed the other forest animals had quieted.

And there it was again.

Arnold got that same strange feeling he had gotten earlier. As if someone was watching over him. As he listened more carefully, he heard another cooing sound, this time a little farther into the forest.

"Hey Helga."

"Yeah?"

"This is going to sound weird, but I think we should be following those sounds."

Helga had heard them too. "What are they?" she asked.

"Pigeons."

The two of them began to trot further ahead, carefully pursuing the cooing sounds. As soon as they reached the spot under the trees where they had heard one bird, another call came from farther away, leading them onwards. This time, Arnold did not have the feeling of going in circles. The trees were spread out enough that the two of them could go side by side as they led their horses.

"Hey Helga, you remember that night at the castle festival?"

Although the castle festival had been about the only thing on Helga's mind for days, she tried to act casual as she nodded.

"Well, I've been thinking about it, and I hope you don't mind me asking, but – I mean, that whole thing with pretending to be Cecile – I guess it's still a little strange to me."

"Like I said before, I just felt like I needed to be someone else so I could act the way I really felt when I was around you. It wasn't really planned. I wasn't trying to lie to you or anything, I just-"

"No, I understand that. But I was wondering, how much of that was you? I guess I'm wondering whether the Helga I've known for years is the true Helga, or whether Cecile was the true Helga."

"Ah."

It was a difficult question, and Helga had wondered about the answer herself. Sometimes she felt like she really _was_ two different people – one brash and sarcastic, always pushing people away, and one vulnerable and poetic, trembling in a dark corner and trying not to be discovered. Helga did not think she would ever completely reconcile her two selves, but she hoped they might find more of a balance now that Arnold had discovered them both.

"There's only me, Arnold. Cecile was part of me, but when I'm kind of a jerk, or when I'm giving you a hard time, that's a part of me too. I'm going to try to be nicer to you, but I guess you're going to have to accept that who I was on the night of the festival was another extreme. I can't be like that all the time."

"I can understand that," Arnold said. "I did like the super romantic Helga I saw at the festival, but you know, I like the Helga who doesn't care what anyone thinks of her either. You can be fun when you're just hanging out. Like whenever you come to the village and forget that you're supposed to be picking on me, and just talk about things instead."

Helga laughed. "Yeah, sometimes I'd forget about my Arnold-bashing quota. It's your overwhelming charm, I guess."

As Arnold pressed on into the forest, he realized he had lost track of the pigeons' cooing, but as he returned his attention to the sounds of the forest, a faint gurgling sound reached him through the gloom. Soon the gurgling turned into a low roar as the trees thinned out even more, and Arnold spied shifting ripples of movement ahead of him. They had reached the river.

"What do you know," said Helga. "Those crazy pigeons were on to something."

They led their horses along the bank, which was smooth enough that they could walk without worrying much about the horses losing their footing. The sun had gone completely down, and Arnold knew they should have set up camp already, but none of their trip had been very well planned. Still, they were no longer lost. Those pigeons had been coming in handy all day.

"Thanks," he spoke into the air.

He wasn't sure who he was thanking, but it seemed appropriate.

XX

Although Helga and Arnold did not notice, there was indeed someone who heard Arnold's appreciation.

The man was hidden in the dark treetops along the side of the river as he watched the traveling companions move just below him. Gathered around him were a number of his feathered friends. Most of them were a bit on the tired side, having been sent by the man to help drive the castle guards away the bow-headed boy and the unibrowed girl. They curled up in the crooks of branches and cooed softly.

The Pigeon Man had known Arnold for a long time, even if Arnold had never seen him face to face. The Pigeon Man had lived a long, hard life, and in years past he had lost interest in conversing with other people – pigeons had always offered him truer companionship than people ever could.

Still, one day the Pigeon Man had noticed a young peasant, called Arnold by his fellow villagers, sitting by his old abandoned home in the forest. He sensed that Arnold was a kind soul. Over the years, he had enjoyed Arnold's company from the treetops, although he was too timid - too shackled by his past - to ever introduce himself. The peasant's presence was enough.

Tonight, when he had seen his friend in trouble, the Pigeon Man knew he needed to help him escape from the castle guards and find the river. As a way to return the favor for all those years of companionship. And so, while The Pigeon Man appreciated Arnold's thanks, all he really wanted was to see his friend happy with the slightly abrasive girl who rode alongside him through the darkness.

If the two of them got to where they were going, that would be thanks enough.

XX

Arnold and Helga traveled further along the river. The current slowed until the water was dark and placid under the moonlight. Soon they spied a glowing orb of light ahead of them, winking in the darkness like it was floating over the water. They left the bank a little bit and took refuge in the cover of the forest so they could come towards the light more cautiously.

Before long, they could see that it was a flame from a lamp. The lamp hung atop an iron rod on a small boat that was moored by the side of the river. Arnold and Helga drew closer to the bank and noticed a solitary figure sitting along the edge of the water, holding a fishing rod.

"Hello there," said Helga as she came out of the trees.

The figure jumped in surprise and looked back at his visitors. Arnold had not been as bold as Helga, but he decided there did not appear to be any threat from the strange man.

"Arrr, who be ye?"

"Um, I'm Helga, and he's Arnold."

Helga stared at the figure and remembered the conversation she had had with Sheena in the monastery.

"Hey, are you Sheena's uncle by any chance?"

"Why yes! Know ye my little niece in the monastery?"

"You got it! I talked to her for a bit before I broke out of that dump."

"Arrr," Sheena's uncle growled thoughtfully as he looked Helga over. "To be sure, ye don't strike me as the type for a nunnery." He put down his fishing rod and shook Helga and Arnold's hands as they dismounted from their horses. "The name's Earl, I be a boatman on this here river. Sometimes I fish, sometimes I ferry. Tell me, Helga, how is Sheena?"

"She's good. I think she enjoys it in the monastery a lot more than I did."

"What brings two young scallywags like yerselves to the river, if'n ye don't mind me askin'?"

"We're sort of on the run," Helga admitted. "Actually, we were hoping you might be able to help us cross the river or point us to some kind of shelter for the night."

"Yer in luck. I can't bring them horses across on the boat, but there be a good place to ford the river a ways ahead. I'll show ye by morning, but for now, we can take the boat to Elk Island. Right over there," Earl said as he pointed to a black mass in the center of the river. "'Tis on the island in a humble shack where I spend my nights after a long day on the river. All I ask is a bit o' payment."

Helga grinned. Arnold's newfound status as a noble was already beginning to pay off, and she was sure he wouldn't mind her using it to their benefit.

"How about a gold coin?"

Earl's eyes lit up with wonder.

"Why, you got yerself a deal! I was just hopin' ye might have some type o' pretty rock!"

Earl led the two young adventurers onto his boat, giving up his fishing seeing as he had hadn't caught any fish in a couple of hours anyway.

"Mind ye, I can't swim, so don't be rockin' the boat too hard now!"

He began to row his passengers across the calm river towards Elk Island. Helga sighed and enjoyed the beauty of her surroundings, lit by the light of the lamp hanging over the boat. There was something romantic in the river, in the sounds and smells of the forest that surrounded them. Even in the grizzled old boat captain in front of them.

Or maybe Helga was just taking it all in through the rosy filter of love.

She leaned over and rested her head on Arnold's shoulder, who looked down at the unexpected contact in surprise, but he did not mind. After a moment, she felt him relax and lean into her as well.

Earl had been hoping for a pretty rock, and Helga did in fact have one on herself. She pulled the rock out of its hiding place under her clothing and looked at it for a moment.

It was too personal to give to Earl, but she wondered why she still had it. She had kept the rock all these years because it looked like Arnold. In the darkness, however, it was just a rock. What was more, she had the real thing right next to her.

Helga dropped the rock into the river with a loud _plop!_

"What was that?" asked Arnold.

Helga gave his shoulder a little squeeze.

"Just something I don't need anymore."

XX

* * *

_**Notes** - There is one chapter remaining, just to make sure no one's confused. I have a tendency of writing second-to-last chapters that could work as endings for some reason, but there are still a few things I want to kind of wrap up in a final chapter. Hope you liked this one!_

_Also, I wrote a Halloween one-shot if anyone who hasn't read it is interested, called _The Tale of the Bat Man_. It hasn't seemed very popular so far - maybe actually posting something on Halloween night is a bad move when everyone is out, haha. But it's there if you're interested.  
_


	10. Love

**Love**

XX

A day had passed since Arnold and Helga went into the forest, and Gerald was already missing his best friend.

Still, things weren't all that bad – the clod harvest was now completely over. Gerald waved goodbye to Brainy as he left with the last ox cart full of dirt clods, heading in the direction of the castle. That boy's day never ended, Gerald thought. Carting people like Arnold, Helga, Lady Rhonda, and Lord Thaddeus back and forth, being put on clod collection detail – Brainy's days were almost as busy as Gerald's.

Then again, now that all the clods were out of Hill's Wood and the fields lay empty and smooth, Gerald would be getting a bit of a break, at least for a few days. He wondered where the clods went and what the heck people did with them. It would always be a mystery, he supposed. Something far too complex for a peasant like himself to understand.

A number of villagers were cleaning up in the barn and returning to their houses, and Gerald knew that later there would be another celebration around a bonfire where he would be called upon to tell chilling tales of the Pigeon Man, the troll that guarded the castle sewers, and maybe even the headless carriage driver. He thought about inviting Brainy to stay the night at the village sometime – he would probably get a kick out of that last story.

"Hey guys, what's up?" asked Gerald as he sat on a log seat in the village square beside Stinky and Lila. The two of them were sharing a drink of water as they took a well-deserved rest from their labor.

"Just thinkin' about all the fun that Arnold feller must be having while he's off gallivantin' around Lord knows where," said Stinky. "It was purty funny how them guards came screaming back through the village the other day on account of bein' attacked by pigeons. At least, so they claimed."

"That _was_ a strange sight," agreed Lila. "I wonder how some silly birds could have spooked them so much? But I suppose it's good news, since it means Arnold and Helga weren't caught. I did think that Arnold riding off into the forest with Helga was just ever so romantic. Didn't you, Gerald?"

"Hmm. I dunno about romance. I'm just thinking about what we gotta take care of now that the clod harvest is over."

In the days following the harvest, Gerald and his fellow villagers would do some foraging in the forest and prepare for winter. After a number of long nights spent huddling in their dim little shacks, spring would emerge again, crops would be planted to provide a little food and – more importantly – prepare the soil for the later dirt clod harvest, and life would begin a new. The same as it always did.

And yet, maybe it would not be the same.

Gerald thought of the gold coins that Arnold had left him, stowed away in his shack. He thought it was hidden well enough, but then Tailor Kokoshka seemed to have a knack for sniffing out anything he wanted, regardless of whether it was his or not. Gerald would soon talk to the village, particularly to the wise Friar Simmons, and figure out how to best use the money. He wished Arnold had been able to stay a little while longer and tell him more about what had happened during his return visit to the castle, because clearly a lot had gone down.

Gerald had talked to Brainy a little when he came to cart some of the clods back to the castle stores, and according to him, Arnold had gotten a plot of land somewhere beyond the forest at the edge of Hill's Wood. Apparently the Shortman family had far more illustrious origins than a simple peasant's village. A part of Gerald worried that Arnold had been swept away by the sudden changes in his life, that Arnold had just gotten on a horse and ridden away forever. But Gerald knew his friend too well. He probably _was_ swept up in a sense of adventure right now, but Arnold would return. Hill's Wood, after all, was still his home.

"Hello Gerald."

The timid greeting caused Gerald and his two peasant friends to look up from their seats. He squinted against the bright sun and noticed Phoebe dismounting from her horse and tying it securely to a gatepost of a fence surrounding a nearby hut. Phoebe walked up to the group of peasants and nodded to Gerald before sitting down beside him.

"Hey Phoebe, how's it going?"

"Oh, I just came by to tell you that Helga left town. I don't really know where she's going, but I was wondering if she stopped by and said anything to Arnold before she left."

Gerald nodded. "Yep, she sure did. They both rode off into the forest yesterday."

Phoebe was surprised to hear it. "Really? That's wonderful!"

"What, you knew she liked him too?"

"Well of course, Gerald. I _am_ Helga's best friend."

Gerald blushed a little at the predictable answer. Normally he was totally smooth with the ladies, but Phoebe had a certain way of making him feel a little awkward sometimes. He just hoped that Stinky and Lila didn't notice. Gerald had an image to maintain, after all.

"I guess there's another reason I came," admitted Phoebe. "Um, I suppose I was kind of inspired by Helga's courage, the way she does what she wants, and talks to who she wants, and goes where she wants..."

Phoebe fell silent for a moment, trying to fight back the urge to jump up and run away screaming. This was a bit harder than she thought.

"I guess I always admired how Helga always put herself out there."

"That's one way to put it," said Gerald.

"With that in mind, I want to start emulating Helga's independent streak a little more myself. For instance, I know I usually only come to Hill's Wood when I'm tagging along with Helga, but even if she's gone now, do you guys mind if I come here more often?"

Stinky and Lila both nodded, Stinky a bit noncommittally and Lila enthusiastically. Stinky didn't know why merchant's daughters wanted to hang out in Hill's Wood in the first place, but Phoebe was more pleasant than Helga, that was for sure. Lila was getting a more distinct impression of what Phoebe was leading into. She leaned forward in anticipation, all thoughts of eavesdropping overwhelmed by the excitement of even more heart-thumping romance on the horizon.

"Good," said Phoebe. "I'm glad. And _you_ don't mind, Gerald?"

"Nah, of course not," he said. "You don't bug people like Helga does. I mean, I suppose Helga must not be _that_ bad, if Arnold was willing to go riding off into the forest with her with no warning. But you're cool."

Phoebe blushed and screwed up her courage for the final leap.

"And there's another festival coming up in about a week. It's not in the castle itself, but it's held every year in my town. Ye Olde Cheyse Festivale – have you heard of it?"

Gerald shook his head, but the thought of an entire festival dedicated to cheese set his mouth watering.

"Well, I was sort of wondering if – um - maybe you wanted to come with me?"

Lila's heart fluttered as she vicariously enjoyed the soaring heights of romance. The question was obvious enough that even Stinky froze. His held held a piece of bread he was snacking on, suspended in midair halfway to his mouth

Gerald nodded excitedly at Phoebe's question. His thoughts were consumed not by romance so much as by the joys of dairy.

"Would I ever! That sounds awesome!"

Phoebe clapped her hands together victoriously before blushing deeply at the stares she received in response.

"Well, that's excellent," she said. "I have to go now!"

She got up from her seat on the log and mounted her horse quickly, riding off before she could do anything embarrassing to ruin her good luck.

Gerald watched her leave for a moment as he thought about _his_ good luck. Maybe Arnold wasn't the only lucky one in the village. A cheese festival wasn't exactly as high society as something held by Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus in the castle, but Gerald couldn't think of anything that could be more exciting. And he always enjoyed spending time with Phoebe. Seeing her arriving at the village always took the edge off of Helga's arrival, after all. Cheese and Phoebe put together, well, that was -

Gerald froze.

"Hey, wait."

Stinky and Lila looked at him as the wheels of his mind churned slowly in circles.

"Did she just ask me out on a date?"

The two of them nodded in affirmation.

"Whoah."

Gerald got up from his seat as the two of them watched in amusement. He stood for a moment, staring at nothing in particular, and then began to leave the village square, walking towards his house in a sort of daze.

"Well, uh, I gotta get ready or something. I'll see you guys."

Lila found the sight too amusing to remind Gerald that the festival wasn't for a week.

As Gerald left, she grabbed the remainder of Stinky's bread and took a bite with a sigh. Romance was definitely in the air around the village of Hill's Wood. For everyone but her, at least. She could have accepted Arnold's advances, it was true, but while Arnold was a delightful boy, he just didn't have that oh so special something. And so, Lila supposed that she would have to wait for romance to fall into her lap.

Arnold and Gerald had both taken their first steps to love, but it would be too much of a coincidence for Lila to be that lucky anytime soon. It would be too convenient. Too cliché. Like a part of some silly fantasy that -

"Whoops, sorry there Lila."

Lila looked down at the water that Stinky had accidentally spilled into her lap. She brushed the droplets off and gave him a teasing frown, but she didn't mind.

"By the way, how's about that ol' cheese party in Phoebe's town, huh? That sure sounds like a fun time."

"Oh, I'm just ever so certain it would be."

"So, uh, I was just thinkin' about, y'see – maybe you wanna go with me?"

Stinky had barely gotten his question out before he found himself bowled over by Lila's embrace and blinded in a whirl of red pigtails.

"Yes, Stinky, oh yes, of course! I thought you'd never ask!"

XX

It was a slow business day at Portly Bob's Breeches. Portly Bob wouldn't admit it to anyone, but most days were slow – people just didn't appreciate the high quality of his breeches. Nowadays, people would put anything on their legs, he liked to tell himself.

Portly Bob was in a particularly bad mood, not only because business was slow, but because he had been thinking about both of his daughters all day. Abbess Slovak had stopped by to inform him that Helga had run away from the monastery, and considering she had not reappeared at home, Bob and Miriam could only guess that she had left town. Bob's first reaction had been anger – running away was yet another in a long line of incomprehensible, impudent things that his daughter did, seemingly just to give him headaches.

As he waited in his shop for customers all day, however, Bob's heated anger had cooled down and condensed into a tight ball of nervousness, even fear, which sat at the bottom of his stomach. Helga had left town. Bob had no idea where she was, whether she was safe, where she was planning to go, or even if she would ever be back. And Miriam had not spoken to him all day. The lack of customers left Bob to his own thoughts, which turned increasingly to the future. A future without either of his daughters.

Bob grunted with displeasure as he noticed the afternoon was wearing down. There had barely even been any point in opening the shop today. He decided to go for a little walk and closed the door behind him as he left the shop. Miriam was inside their living quarters in back of the shop, but he doubted she would want to go on a walk with him. He struck out towards the center of town to get some fresh air.

A number of people began to pass him by as he walked towards the center of town, and when he got there, he saw that some kind of event was going on. The square was packed with people, and a gaudy caravan was parked beside the old statue of the Lloyds that stood in the center of the square. Several entertainers were in front of the caravan, dressed in strange furry costumes as they leaped and traded sing-song lines with each other. The entertainers were surrounded by a crowd of townspeople. Bob noticed a sign on the caravan, which read: 'Rats, a musicale tale of vermine, performed by the visiting Troupe of the Broad Waye!'

Bob shook his head in disgust. What were a bunch of show folk doing in town? No wonder people didn't have time to visit his shop and buy some breeches – they were all transfixed by the crass performance going on before them. Bob found himself looking down at his side before he even realized what he was doing, expecting to share a harsh laugh with Helga – she always found these events as ridiculous as he did. But she was not there.

Maybe the walk had been a bad idea.

"Portly Bob Pataki," said a man standing beside him at the edge of the crowd. "Nice to see you."

Bob recognized the man as Lord Thaddeus, although he seemed to be dressed in plainer clothing than usual. "Good afternoon, Lord Thaddeus," he said.

"I just thought I'd sneak out of the castle and check out this performance."

Bob looked at the entertainers singing and dancing. He caught a few references to sewers and cheese, but the spectacle was hard for Bob to concentrate on. He was surprised to hear that Lord Thaddeus would be interested in such a thing. Then again, on the few occasions Bob had talked to him, he did seem stranger than Lady Rhonda. And he _had_ invited Helga to the festival.

"I was actually hoping to see you as well," said Lord Thaddeus.

"Oh yeah? You need a new pair of breaches? I just closed the store down, but I can open it again for you, no problem."

"No, the last pair you sold me are fine. I was hoping to talk to you about your daughter, Helga."

Something about the way Lord Thaddeus brought up the subject set off a nervous twinge in Bob's eye.

"What about Helga?"

"How is she doing in the monastery?"

Bob tried to look casual as he half-watched the musical performance in front of him, but he knew there was no way to answer the question without revealing his embarrassing family situation. "She's not in the monastery anymore," he said reluctantly. "She ran away. We don't really know where."

Lord Thaddeus shook his head sympathetically. "That's unfortunate to hear. You know, I had heard that you put her in a monastery, and while I may not be very close to your daughter, it didn't seem like a good fit for her at all. Did you ask her what she wanted?"

Bob felt his embarrassment turn to annoyance as he listened to Lord Thaddeus's line of questioning. Okay, so Lord Thaddeus owned a castle, but he wasn't even older than Portly Bob. What made this bowl-haired little weirdo know more about how to raise his daughter than he did? Bob felt the urge to give Lord Thaddeus a piece of his mind, but he knew he had to restrain himself.

"I'm not the wealthiest of merchants," Bob had to admit, the words grating his ears as they left his lips. "It wasn't up to Helga – I needed to do something with her, and she wasn't marrying anyone rich like Olga did with Duke Doug. She didn't find a husband at the festival, so I had to put her in the monastery."

Lord Thaddeus had to admit that he had not considered Bob's financial situation, never having to worry about such things himself.

"I suppose I can understand why you wanted Helga to marry someone, but it's fairly short notice. And I'm sure Helga can contribute to the family in some way – helping with your business, perhaps." Lord Thaddeus noticed Bob rolling his eyes, but ignored it as he continued. "Helga seems like a smart girl. I think you're not giving her enough credit. Perhaps you should have talked to her about things and tried to come to a decision with her instead of forcing her to do something that would make her unhappy."

Bob grunted noncommittally.

"Do you know when she might be coming back to town?"

"No. She left without any warning."

"I see," said Lord Thaddeus as he watched the rat-costumed performers entertain the townspeople. They were quite good. Especially the gray one. Maybe he would invite them to perform at the castle the next time they traveled through his lands.

"Portly Bob," he said, "whenever Helga does come back, and I'm sure she will eventually, feel free to ask me for help if you need any. And make sure to keep her interests in mind – I hate to see her estranged from her father and mother. After all, if we drive away the ones we love, what else do we have left?"

Bob supposed the question was rhetorical, but he couldn't tell if Lord Thaddeus was giving him advice or telling him what to do. Not that Bob was really in a position to argue much if it was the latter.

"And do not put her in a monastery again."

Lord Thaddeus phrased his statement like a request, but there was a tiny note of menace laced into it. Bob gulped and nodded.

"Yes sir. I think I'll be going home now – are you sure you aren't interested in any Breeches?"

Lord Thaddeus shook his head, and Bob bade him farewell as he retreated from the town square on his way back home. As Bob passed under the monastery on his way back, he got the distinct impression that it was somehow admonishing him with a stern gaze. For failing to keep Helga there, for sending Helga there in the first place, he wasn't sure – he was just happy to escape from under its shadow.

His home came into sight, along with the home of his neighbors, the Heyerdahl merchants. Portly Bob had never been fond of them. There was something haughty about them, as if they wanted to be nobles and didn't know their place in life, always talking about some new book they had acquired on a trading trip when they happened to see Bob. He was always annoyed by how constantly his daughter visited their house, although he had to admit that Phoebe was quiet and restrained, at least. Apparently it didn't rub off on Helga.

He wondered how the Heyerdahls handled their daughter, if it was different than it was for him. He certainly wouldn't ask them, since he did not particularly enjoy their company, and he was too proud to ask for advice in the first place, but Lord Thaddeus's lecture had unsettled him. Helga's absence was beginning to unsettle him as well. Olga had always been his favorite, of course. She always knew her place, knew how to behave perfectly, and managed to get a perfect husband even if it was a little late. But Olga's letters had been fewer and farther between lately, and now Helga was gone as well.

Bob arrived at his house. He came in through the back door since he had already closed the shop, and found his wife sitting at the table waiting for him.

"Hey Miriam. Just wanted to go out for a walk."

"Bob, we need to talk."

"Maybe tomorrow, I'm feeling kinda bushed and I-"

"Sit down."

Bob caught the edge in his wife's voice, an edge he hadn't heard in years, and wondered what was going on. Was this pick on Portly Bob day? He sniffed the air – not a trace of mead to be found. Not that he had seen Miriam going to the tavern today, but it was still a little surprising. Miriam waited patiently for him to sit down, and he decided to indulge her.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking since you sent Helga to that monastery," said Miriam, "and I realized that I was sitting back and letting you screw everything up."

Bob's mouth hung open, and although he had not formed any words with which he could object to Miriam's accusation, she held up a finger to silence him.

"Ever since Olga left, things have been going downhill in this family. I know she was our pride and joy, Bob, but she's got her own life now, and instead of focusing more on Helga we've been too wrapped up in ourselves to do the right thing. And now she's gone too, and who knows if we'll ever hear from her again!"

"Hey, we had to do something, Miriam!"

"Maybe we did, but I've had enough of going to the tavern every day while you make all the decisions without asking anyone else for their opinion. Helga's gone because of the way you tried to force her into the little mold you had set up for her, and I've watched you run your business into the ground with your poor decision-"

"Hey hey hey hey! What's going on here? Portly Bob's Breeches runs like clockwork!"

"It runs like a horse with three legs, Bob. I mean, breeches? Just breeches? How many people do you think are in this town, Bob? How often do their pants rip, other than Portly Roland's? Why do you think business is so slow? We need to diversify! Why not some tunics, some red dresses to get Lady Rhonda out here once in a while? That woman looks like a big spender to me."

"Miriam, come on, this is cute and everything, but you're a woman."

Miriam slammed her fist down on the table and narrowed her eyes at her husband. Portly Bob couldn't remember the last time he had seen that expression on her face. Maybe never. He fell silent and decided it would be prudent to allow her to continue with her thoughts.

"From now on, we're making some changes," Miriam announced.

Her anger soon dissipated as she looked vaguely off into the air, thinking about business strategies and clothing sales. Had Miriam been living in some fantastical society a number of centuries into the future, buzzwords like 'synergy' and 'proactive' might have buzzed through her head. Nevertheless, she was becoming more excited with each passing moment. Helga's absence had sparked something in her, a realization of years of apathy that had been lost to her. She wanted to nurse the flame of passion that she hadn't felt in years. Things would change from now on, no doubt about it.

"And if Helga comes back, which you'd better hope she will," said Miriam, "we will be paying more attention to her, taking her opinions into consideration, and we will _not_ be sending her to a monastery. Is that understood?"

Bob nodded faintly.

"Yes ma'am."

XX

Past the fields that stretched beyond the castle, almost completely obscured by the dimming tree line in the distance, Curly could make out Hill's Wood. A few wisps of smoke curled into the air, a few vague outlines of huts stood out against the forest behind them, and although it was miles away, Curly wondered if he could see the occasional villager going about their business.

He didn't know for sure, but Curly believed that Arnold and Helga were somewhere in the forest beyond Hill's Wood. He had been doing some thinking ever since the guards had burst into the throne room with news of Cecile trying to steal from the treasury, and now that he had visited Portly Bob in town, he felt his suspicions were confirmed. It was just too much of a coincidence for an uninvited noble guest to come back to the castle with thievery in mind after having shown up to the castle festival, uninvited and out of nowhere. Curly hadn't invited Cecile, and Rhonda certainly hadn't. The fact that Helga had failed to appear, the fact that Cecile just happened to be a cousin who looked very much like her – Curly was somewhat amazed that Rhonda hadn't noticed.

And now Helga had fled from the monastery almost at the same time that Cecile had been chased by guards past Hill's Wood and into the forest. Yes, it was obvious. The only question was what Arnold was doing, and from conversing with the former peasant earlier, Curly had gotten the impression that he wanted to travel in search of his long lost parents. Curly had no proof that he and Helga were traveling together, but he had seen the way Arnold and Cecile had hung on each other's words at the festival, run off laughing hand in hand in the hallways. Curly was a romantic, and it was too tempting to connect the dots.

"Uh, welcome back, Lord Thaddeus," wheezed Brainy as Curly passed through the gates.

"Thank you Brainy."

Curly entered the Great Hall and made his way to the throne room. His wife was sitting in her throne, looking bored, as Nadine stood by her side and Eugene the Jester juggled some apples a few feet away.

"How did things go with Portly Bob?" asked Rhonda.

"I think they went well. I managed to convince him to let Helga go free from the monastery," said Curly. "They might send her to live with that older sister of hers. Olga, I think?"

"No idea," shrugged Rhonda. "Helga can do what she wants."

Curly didn't really want to lie to his wife, but he knew that she did not care for Helga nearly as much as he did. If she found out it was Helga who had attempted to steal from the treasury, things might be harder for her if she ever returned to her home. At least for now, Curly would keep some of his revelations to himself.

Rhonda let out a loud yawn as she idly watched Eugene smack himself in the face with an apple. Curly took the throne adjacent to his wife and watched Eugene's entertainment with her. For a court jester, he was about the worst juggler Curly had even seen. But then again, he found Eugene's incompetence more entertaining than he would have found a better juggler.

"I think I'm getting a lot better!" said Eugene with bubbly enthusiasm. "I've been thinking about experimenting a little - would you guys like to see me try it with some kitchen knives?"

Curly shook his head emphatically.

"No, don't do that! Keep away from the kitchen, Eugene."

"Well, alright. If you say so."

Eugene began juggling his apples again, since he was able to talk and juggle at the same time, and actually impressed Curly with some kind of fancy switchover trick before the apples went flying across the throne room. Two rolled away on the floor, while one bounced off of Rhonda's head before following its companions.

"Lady Rhonda! I'm so sorry, are you alright?"

Rhonda sighed. "Yes, Eugene, I'm fantastic."

She watched her court jester scrambling to pick up the apples. She had been in the mood for a little entertainment for the night, but she was feeling bored. Actually, she had been waiting for her husband to get back from town.

"Eugene, Nadine, you two can go do what you want. I want a little time alone. And I know how you like to go out in the evening when those infuriating bugs are out, Nadine." Rhonda racked her brain for the name. "Crickets, were they?"

"That's right, Lady Rhonda."

"Well, feel free to go out and search for your crickets. Maybe Brainy can help you."

"Thank you, milady!"

Nadine and Eugene took their leave with a curtsy and a bow respectively, and Rhonda and Curly were left alone in the throne room.

Rhonda looked over at her husband. Dealing with that peasant Arnold and righting past family wrongs was an unpleasant business, and Rhonda was thankful that Curly had been able to smooth things over and guide her in the right direction.

"Curly?"

"Yes, my pretty princess?"

"I just wanted to say, uh – well, thanks."

Curly flashed a silent smile at his wife. He knew what she was thanking him for. Curly was also wondering what the two of them would do for the night, and thinking about Helga and Arnold's situation had put him in a romantic mood. He got up from his throne, took Rhonda by the hand, and before she would say anything, surprised her by leading her up from her seat and plunging into a passionate kiss.

"What was that for?"

"Oh, nothing," sighed Curly as they finally parted. "You know, Rhonda, I was wondering if you wanted to take a little walk through the castle. I know this wonderful spot on the top of one of the towers where we could go and enjoy a fabulous view of the stars once the sun goes down. I think we'd have some privacy up there, too."

Rhonda liked the idea, and her husband's romantic mood was contagious.

"Oh Curly, you're so bad."

"Yes," he agreed, "I am. But don't try to tell me it doesn't thrill you!"

Their laughter echoed through the castle as they ran through the hallways, hands entwined.

XX

Arnold and Helga had spent two nights at the cabin of Sheena's uncle Earl on Elk Island. They had intended on leaving after their first night, but Earl had asked Arnold to help with some repairs to his cabin on the island, and it was not in Arnold's nature to turn him down. Not to mention that the man had done them a big favor by letting them stay there in relative safety. After that, Earl had insisted they try a little fishing and drinking with him, and another day had passed before they knew it.

Now, their second night had passed peacefully. It turned out that Earl had a larger barge that he used to ferry his occasional customers across the river when he wasn't fishing, and they had gotten their horses from the bank the previous day and brought them onto the island. Now, Earl was taking them across to the bank on the far side of the river, where Arnold and Helga would begin their travels.

"Thanks for everything," repeated Arnold for the umpteenth time.

"Arr, say nothin' of it," said Earl. "Good luck to the both of ye!"

Arnold reached down from his mount to shake Earl's hand. "We might need it," he said. "Hopefully those guards won't be coming back to bother us again."

"Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus's guards? Let me tell ye, boy, I never seen such lazy layabouts in all my years! Why, the things I've stolen from that there castle..." Earl coughed nervously. "Er, beside the point though. This here land ain't in the realm of Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus, so the way I figure it, they won't be botherin' ye no more."

"Who does this land belong to?"

Earl scratched his head, reminiscing on old times.

"The people what owned it been gone for a long time. The Shortman family, I do believe."

Helga raised an eyebrow at her companion as the two of them took their leave of Earl and pressed on into the forest.

The trees thinned above their heads, and before long, they reached a break in the woods. The ground sloped down beneath them, and Arnold looked out over an open valley. He was surprised at how clear of trees the valley appeared. The ground undulated gently through the valley, smooth and sun-dappled, and in its center stood an abandoned castle. It was much smaller than Lady Rhonda and Lord Thaddeus's castle, but it was definitely a castle. It did not take long for Arnold to realize that it must have been where his grandparents had lived. It was as if the castle and plain were waiting for him.

"Is that what I think it is?" asked Helga.

"I think so."

The two of them enjoyed the view for a moment, sitting silently atop their horses. It was morning, and they had the rest of their lives ahead of them.

"What do you want to do next?"

Arnold pointed at the castle. "Go exploring."

"And then?"

Arnold smiled. "I should be asking you that," he pointed out. "I'm the one who agreed to follow you on your little unplanned adventure."

"I was thinking we could visit my sister. I know vaguely where she and Duke Doug are supposed to live, even though I didn't bring any maps along."

It sounded like a good idea to Arnold. He had never met Olga, and although Helga did nothing but complain about her, he got the feeling that maybe sibling rivalry made the descriptions of Olga a little more terrible than reality.

"Well then," said Helga as she sent her horse galloping down the sloping hill into the valley, "last one to your castle is a rotten egg!"

"No fair!" Arnold laughed. "You can't start without a warning, that's cheating!"

His own horse trailed along behind Helga's, but while Arnold had gotten comfortable enough to ride without feeling like he was going to fall off, he had no chance of catching up to her. Fortunately, by the time she got to the castle, she was happy to wait for him.

Helga may not have brought a map along, but Arnold happened to have one of his own. It was a big reason why he had agreed to come along with Helga. The thought of finding out what had happened to his parents was too tempting for Arnold to resist, even if a part of him worried that he might not like what he would find. Hopefully, though, he and Helga could both reunite with family members during their adventure.

As he looked over at his pink-clad traveling companion, her yellow pigtails rustling a little in the breeze – whether they were even pigtails, Arnold wasn't entirely sure – he knew that he had made the right choice in coming with her. Arnold had never left Hill's Wood when he was growing up; the thought of all the things they could do and see together excited him. But he noticed that what was really exciting was the thought of doing and seeing those things _together_. Together with Helga G. Pataki.

Stranger things had happened, Arnold supposed.

As they began to ride down into the sunny valley, towards his family's long lost home, Arnold looked forward to getting to know Helga better. Good moods, bad moods, and all.

XX

Arnold found many amazing things in the old abandoned castle. Later, Helga did reunite with her sister, and Duke Doug had not in fact been up front about the vast personal fortunes he had described to Olga's parents. Many more adventures followed. Arnold grew closer to Helga over the course of many months. She waited patiently for Arnold to feel the same feelings for her as she did for him – she had waited patiently for years, so a little more time was not too much to ask.

You may wonder, dear reader, whether Arnold found his parents. That is a tale for another time. And you may wonder if they faced danger in their travels, even if the Pigeon Man turned out to be pretty cool after all. What about the headless carriage driver, for instance? Or the fabled Monkey Man? And did they return to Hill's Wood and use Arnold's newfound land and noble name to improve the lives of peasants for generations to come? Again, tales for another time.

There is one thing, however, that _can_ be said for sure:

Arnold and Helga, together, lived happily ever after.

XX

* * *

_**Notes** - That's it! Hope you guys enjoyed it, let me know what you thought! I will be taking a writing break for a little while (technically I've already been doing that, other than tweaking and editing chapters of this). Until then, if you haven't checked them out already, my other Hey Arnold stories are:_

Helga, the Artiste_ - More popular overall than this story was. It's humor-based with a little angst and drama thrown in, and I tried to match the tone of an episode and have it fit closely to canon._

The Tale of the Bat Man_ - A Halloween one-shot I wrote recently. Again, closer to the show itself in tone, but it actually has a short part in which Gerald tells a story that is reminiscent of the medieval / fantasy setting in this story._

What's in a Name?_ - A very short humor-based one-shot._

_I also have a number of Kim Possible stories, so if you're a fan of that show, I'd enjoy hearing what you think of those too. In terms of what I will be doing whenever I get back to writing, I have another KP story in mind, and I might be writing a Buffy the Vampire Slayer story seeing I've been re-watching that recently and it's perhaps my favorite show. But I'm sure I'll write more Hey Arnold stories in the future as well._


End file.
